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BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 


BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Camp  Yarns  Collected  at  One  of  the  Great 

National  Army  Cantonments  by  an 

Amateur  War  Correspondent 


BY 
FRAZIER  HUNT 


FOREWORD   BY 

COLONEL  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

INTRODUCTION   BY 
BRIGADIER-GENERAL   EVAN  M.  JOHNSON 

COMMANDING    77tH    DIVISION 

ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

CAPTAIN  J.  S.  S.  RICHARDSON,  U.S.R. 

DIVISIO^A  >   ST/F'7 


Garden  City  New  York 

DOUBLED  AY,  PAGE    &  COMPANY 

1918 


v.^ 


Copyright,  1918,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PaGE   &   CoMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


COPTEIGHT,  1917,  BY  NEW  YORK  SUN 


.p 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  AUNT 

MARTHA    FRAZIER    MATHEWS 

WHOSE  HEART  WAS  BIG  ENOUGH  TO  MOTHER 

ALL  THE   MEN   OF   THIS   AND   THE 

NATIONAL  ARMIES   TO   COME 


DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  majority  of  these  camp  sketches  first 
appeared  from  day  to  day  in  the  columns  of 
the  New  York  Sun.  The  chronicler  is  deeply 
grateful  to  the  Sun  for  permission  to  gather 
them  together  between  two  covers  and  to  turn 
them  into  a  more  or  less  permanent  annal  of  a 
great  National  Army  cantonment. 

In  the  title  and  now  and  again  in  the  text 
the  word  "draft"  appears.  For  a  considerable 
period  in  formative  months  of  the  National 
Army  this  was  assiduously  avoided  and  "selec- 
tive service"  substituted.  But  now  what  sting 
there  might  once  have  been  has  disappeared 
and  it  stands  an  honoured  word. 

To-day  a  draft  recruit  wears  his  "O.  D."  as 
proudly  and  soon  will  fight — or  already  is  fight- 
ing— as  gallantly  as  any  other  American  soldier. 

F.  H. 
Camp  Upton,  New  York 

January  1,  1918. 


FOREWORD 

TO  THE  MEN  OF  THE  NATIONAL  ARMY 

"You  of  the  American  Army  are  the  men 
pre-eminently  entitled  to  honour  from  the 
whole  country  at  this  time.  Words  count  for 
very  little  when  we  are  about  to  'wake  the  guns 
that  have  no  doubts,'  and  it  is  you  and  those 
hke  you — ^your  comrades  in  arms — ^to  whom  all 
citizens  owe  most  at  this  time. 

"I  respect  you;  and  I  envy  you  these  great 
days  of  good  fortune.  You  will  find  it  a  mighty 
sight  pleasanter  to  explain  to  your  children  why 
you  DID  go  to  war  than  why  you  DIDN'T! 
You  won't  have  to  explain  that  down  at  bottom 
you  were  really  a  pretty  manly  fellow,  but  that 
your  mother  would  not  let  you  fight!  You  can 
let  the  other  man  do  the  explaining;  and  that 
is  always  the  pleasanter  position. 

"You  are  the  men  who  will  have  done  your 
duty.     You  are  the  men  who  will  have  done 


X  FOREWORD 

the  work  best  worth  doing,  you  will  have  fought 
the  great  fight  for  the  right.  You  will  have 
carried  the  banner  of  our  country  forward,  at 
no  matter  what  cost,  and  no  matter  how  long 
it  takes;  for  the  American  people  must  see  the 
war  through,  until  it  is  crowned  by  the  peace 
of  complete  victory. 

"You  represent  the  men  who  beyond  all 
others  at  this  time  have  put  their  fellow-coun- 
trymen under  a  lasting  debt  of  high  obligation." 

Extract  from  speech  delivered 
to  Camp  Upton  men  by  Theodore 
Roosevelt,  November  18,  1917, 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword  by  Colonel  Theodore  Roose- 
velt         viii 

Introduction     by    Brigadier-General 

Evan  M.  Johnson      .        .        .       xv 


I.     Scrub  Oak  and  Dust  ...         3 

1.  Genesis  I;  1 

2.  In  All  His  Glory 

3.  A  Matter  of  Opinion 

II.     Pegging  Away        ....       25 

1 .  "  Rain !  Yah  Big  Fool,  Rain ! " 

2.  The  Rat  Catcher  from  Rivington  Street 

3.  "Oi!  Oi!  Dat'sl" 

4.  "It's  Nae  Mair  A  Sang  Tae  Me" 

5.  Tips  on  Telegrams 

6.  First  Class  Fightm'  Men 


III.  Allies  All 53 

1.  Kelly  of  the  Engineers 

2.  Laundry  and  Machine  Gun 

3.  Five  Times  a  Day 

IV.  The  Folks  from  Home        .       .       75 

1.  The  Little  Old  Lady  in  the  Flivver 

2.  George  Tries  a  Sunday  at  Home 

3.  The  Little  Old  Lady  Again 

4.  Ma  Makes  Her  Farewell  Tour 


xii  CONTENTS 


V.     Cabbages  and  Kings — ^and  Cooks     103 

1.  "     .     .     .       and       the       Beards       Neatly 

Trimmed" — U.     S.     A.     Field     Service 
Reg.  Par.  286 

2.  Patchogue  Twenty  Miles  Away 

3.  The  Call  of  the  Pick 

4.  "Have  Some  Moah  Pie,  Louie?" 

5.  No  Irish  Need  Apply 

VI.     Shoulder  Straps    ....     129 

1.  Pals  Anyhow 

2.  "Nuttin'  But  a  Shavetail" 

3.  An  Army  that  Doesn't  Know  "Annie  Laurie" 

4.  Chevrons  Instead 

VII.     Some  Local  Colour     .       .       .     153 

1.  A  July  Day  in  '98 

2.  White  Meat  for  Eddie 

3.  Li'l  Ole  Eddie  Again 

4.  Just  Inspection 

5.  Denny  Gets  To  Go  After  All 

6.  When  the  War  Gods  Pull  the  Strings 

VIII.     Some  They  Took  While  Others 

Failed 185 

1.  But  the  Doctors  Said  "No" 

2.  "Red"  W.  W. 

3.  Berlin  Papers  Please  Copy 

4.  The  Old  Man  with  the  Two  Stars 

5.  Joe  Sticks 

IX.    Motley  Measures       .       .       .219 

1.  Ambition 

2.  Local  Talent 

3.  Bug  Powder  and  Shoulder  Straps 

4.  Windows  of  Promise 

5.  Bill  and  Aleck  Do  a  Pink  Tea 

6.  At  the  Sign  of  the  Red  Triangle 

7.  Bennie  Joins  Out 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

X.     Service  Ribbons    ....     263 

1.  The  Sport  of  Kings 

2.  "When  Fightin'  Was  Fightin'  " 

3.  Among  Those  Present 

4.  Heroes  Both 

5.  Into  War's  Magic 

6.  The  Van  Nordens'— '61  and  '18 

XI.     Not  Strictly  Regulation  .       .     305 

1.  No  Regular  Gent 

2.  Kaiser  Bill  Gets  the  Range 

3.  Mike  the  Seventh 

4.  "Woof!     Woof!" 

5.  Amok   Loses  his  "Woof!     Woof!" 

6.  WTien  Private  Burkle  Goes  Home 

XII.     The  Great  Adventure        .        .     345 

1.  Tommy  Goes  Back  for  More 

2.  "A  Bloomin',  Bloody  'Ero" 

3.  A  Soldier  of  His  Country 

4.  The  Army  That  Was 

5.  The  Army  That  Is 


INTRODUCTION 

It  seems  particularly  appropriate  that  this 
volume  of  sketches  concerning  the  life  of  a 
soldier  of  the  National  Army  should  find  its 
origin  at  Camp  Upton,  New  York,  a  camp 
named  for  that  man,  who,  more  than  any  one 
other,  is  responsible  for  the  formulation  of  the 
military  policy  which  has  made  possible  such 
Army. 

Major-General  Henry  Upton  of  the  United 
States  Army,  perhaps  the  keenest  student  of 
military  history  our  country  has  produced, 
graduated  from  West  Point  in  1860. 

At  the  end  of  the  Civil  War  he  had  com- 
manded, successively,  a  battery  of  artillery, 
regiment  of  infantry,  brigade  of  infantry,  brig- 
ade of  artillery,  and  a  division  of  cavalry,  and 
had,  in  the  performance  of  all  his  duties,  ex- 
hibited   the    highest    qualities    of    command. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

After  the  close  of  the  war  he  devoted  himself 
to  the  task  of  interpreting  the  lessons  of  the 
Civil  War,  and  the  result  was  the  formulation 
of  a  document  which,  long  buried  in  the  archives 
of  the  War  Department,  in  1904  was  brought 
to  the  attention  of  the  then  Secretary  of  War, 
Elihu  Root,  who  had  it  published  under  the 
title  of  "The  MiHtary  Policy  of  the  United 
States,"  stating  that  this  work  ought  to  be 
''rescued  from  oblivion"  and  "it  should  be 
made  available  for  the  study  of  our  officers  and 
for  the  information  of  all  who  may  be  charged 
with  our  military  policy  in  the  future."  Upton, 
in  this  document,  covered  the  period  which, 
commencing  with  our  Revolution,  included  to 
nearly  the  end  of  our  Civil  War.  His  work 
may  be  said  to  be  the  most  profound  analysis 
of  military  and  inclusive  economic  conditions 
ever  published  in  this  country,  and  as  result 
of  this  analysis,  it  is  shown  conclusively 
that  our  militia  and  volunteer  systems  have 
broken  down  under  the  stress  and  strain 
of  war,  and  that  there  has  been  great  and 
unnecessary    loss    both    in    life    and    money. 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

Upton  concludes  that  only  through  universal 
service  can  there  be  a  dependable  military 
force. 

This  conclusion,  though  obvious,  was  not  met 
by  remedial  legislation  until  after  the  Spanish- 
American  War  and  the  Philippine  Insurrection 
in  1898,  during  which  the  confusion  and  delay 
resulting  from  attempted  organisation  after  war 
had  commenced;  the  lack  of  supplies,  and  the 
great  mortality  due  to  preventable  diseases, 
were  so  evident  that  there  arose  on  the  part  of 
many  thinking  men  a  demand  that  some  steps 
be  taken  which  would  prevent  a  repetition  of 
these  conditions.  It  was  this  demand  that  led 
to  the  resurrection  of  Upton's  policy,  buried 
years  before,  and  its  formulation  by  Mr.  Root 
as  the  basis  for  a  study  of  a  military  policy  for 
the  United  States,  and  it  was  the  publication  of 
this  work,  its  discussion,  and  the  education 
thereby  of  the  public,  that  made  possible  the 
legislation  which,  in  1914,  gave  us  the  National 
Defense  Act,  and  later,  after  our  entrance  into 
the  war,  the  Draft  Act,  which  provides  for 
compulsory    service.     How   radical   a   measure 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

this  IS  will  appear  when  it  is  remembered  how 
bitterly  the  American  has  always  opposed  such 
service.  Even  where  it  was  evident  that  the 
volunteer  system  was  a  failure  and  could  not 
provide  the  necessary  men  to  maintain  our 
armies  in  the  field,  the  attempt  to  fill  such 
armies  by  draft  during  the  Civil  War  resulted 
in  riots,  disorder,  death,  and  the  necessity  for 
calhng  out  troops  in  order  to  enforce  the  man- 
dates of  the  government. 

With  all  these  facts  in  mind  it  is  not  surpris- 
ing that  there  were  many  who,  while  recognis- 
ing the  necessity  for  the  draft  act,  were  doubt- 
ful as  to  its  result.  It  was  not  infrequently 
stated  that  there  would  be  disorder  and  opposi- 
tion on  the  part  of  those  drafted  and  their 
friends,  or  at  the  very  least  that,  although  there 
might  be  obedience  to  the  law,  the  obedience 
would  be  in  a  great  measure  unwilling,  and  that 
as  a  result  there  would  be  found  a  certain 
sullenness  and  reluctant  compliance  with  the 
law's  demands. 

The  actual  results  are  exactly  the  opposite. 
The  machinery  for  the  draft,  admirably  con- 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

ceived  and  carried  into  execution  under  the 
direction  of  Major-General,  then  Brigadier- 
General,  Enoch  H.  Crowder,  Provost  Marshal 
of  the  Army,  assembled  promptly  and  without 
friction  the  drafted  men.  These,  responding 
promptly  to  the  call  of  the  government  and 
in  obedience  to  the  law,  have  exhibited  astour 
ishing  adaptability;  their  willingness  and  cheer- 
fulness to  fulfil  their  duty  as  citizens  could  not 
be  excelled.  Rich  or  poor,  high  or  low,  all  have 
joined  together  and  put  forth  their  best  efforts 
for  a  common  end — ^the  success  of  their  country 
on  the  field  of  battle.  As  a  result  of  this  atti- 
tude the  progress  of  instruction  has  been  rapid 
and  most  gratifying.  On  the  part  of  the  men 
themselves  there  is  an  evident  appreciation, 
not  only  of  the  physical  good,  which  is  notice- 
able, but  of  the  value  of  the  training  as  a  means 
of  discipline  and  subordination  to  authority. 
This  is  so  evident  even  after  the  short  period 
these  men  have  been  in  service  that  no  better 
example  can  be  offered  as  to  the  value  of  uni- 
versal service  as  a  means  of  placing  at  the  dis- 
position  of   the   country,   in   time   of   need,    a 


XX  INTRODUCTION 

trained  army  personnel,  and  that  the  individuals 
of  this  personnel  will  return  to  civil  life  a  higher 
and  better  type  of  citizen  physically,  mentally, 
and  morally. 

The  present  system  is  admittedly  a  make- 
shift, a  war  measure  made  necessary  on  account 
of  the  lack  of  any  adequate  provision  in  law 
whereby  an  army  could  be  raised.  I  believe 
the  law  to  have  been  the  best  possible  measure 
that  could  have  been  devised  under  the  then 
existing  conditions,  but  this  does  not  mean  that 
it  is  the  best  measure  possible.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  in  calling  men  between  the  ages  of  21 
and  31  to  the  colours,  there  is  a  distinct  eco- 
nomic loss,  owing  to  the  fact  that  these  men 
have  reached  a  point  in  their  lives  where  they 
have  embarked  seriously  upon  their  business  or 
professional  careers;  and  that  many  have  either 
taken  or  are  about  to  take  obligations  in  the 
shape  of  wives  and  families.  They  are  produc- 
tive units.  This  economic  loss  could  be  avoided 
by  a  system  of  universal  service  which  called 
for  a  year's  training  of  the  youth  of  the  country 
from   eighteen   to  nineteen.     At  that   age  the 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

individuals  would  be  neither  factors  in  the  busi- 
ness world  nor,  if  it  were  their  intention  to  enter 
college,  would  the  loss  of  a  year  be  material; 
and  it  is  the  age  at  which  most  of  our  soldiers 
of  the  great  Civil  War  entered  the  army.  It  is 
hoped  that  the  lesson  of  unpreparedness  which 
we  have  learned  as  a  result  of  our  condition  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  present  war,  not  only  un- 
preparedness as  to  trained  men,  but  as  to 
material,  will  teach  us  of  the  wisdom  of  what 
Washington  said:  "In  time  of  peace  prepare 
for  war";  so  that  through  this  preparation  we 
may  get  that  prevention  of  war  which  all  of  us 
so  earnestly  desire. 

The  sketches  to  which  this  FOREWORD  is 
an  introduction  deal  with  the  man  who  is  the 
product  of  Upton's  policy,  and  in  them  are 
found  those  touches  of  human  nature  which 
unconsciously  reveal  his  surprise  that  he  is  being 
benefited  by  the  workings  of  a  system  to  which 
he  has  always  been  opposed,  and  his  enjoyment 
in  his  new  experience. 

The  reader  understanding  the  conditions  of 
his  service  should  consider  the  benefit  which 


BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

CHAPTER  ONE 
SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST 

1 — Genesis  I;   i 

GEORGE  JAMES,  Company  F,  Fifteenth 
New  York  Infantry,  a  soldier  of  colour 
and  a  bugler  in  his  own  right  and  by  the 
grace  of  Col.  William  Hayward,  stood  by  the 
side  of  the  ''bull  pen"  next  to  the  guardhouse  at 
11  o'clock  this  first  night  and  sent  1,942  honour 
men  between  their  army  blankets.  Officially 
in  each  of  the  dozen  barracks  United  States 
Army  sergeants  tucked  the  1,942  men  in  bed, 
but  it  was  very  figuratively  speaking  in  some 
such  words  as  "There's  taps,"  "Lights  out," 
and  "Can  the  talk." 

There  weren't  any  sheets  on  the  beds,  and  the 
Ostermoors  were  hay,  and  the  voice  of  the  ser- 
geants was  not  mother's  sweet  good-night.    But 


4    .    .PLOWN:  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

for  all  that,  it  was  the  finest  bed  and  the  softest 
hay  and  the  most  welcome  words  that  these 
same  1,942  young  army  buds  ever  had  experi- 
enced. For  that  rather  rasping,  commanding 
voice  marked  the  end  of  an  absolutely  perfect 
first  army  day,  and  the  mattress  gave  a  new  and 
accurate  meaning  to  the  phrase  "hit  the  hay." 
And  the  cool,  snappy  night,  just  dashy  enough 
to  put  the  fear  of  the  army  in  every  meadowlark 
mosquito  within  five  miles  of  the  camp,  was  just 
the  sort  to  make  even  a  young  selected  soldier 
forget  that  he  was  a  pretty  decent  sized  hero 
who  had  the  honour  of  his  httle  old  home  town 
on  his  shoulders. 

How  any  of  these  young  men  could  have  lived 
through  the  farewell  given  them  by  the  home 
town  and  the  cigars  and  wrist  watches  and  tooth- 
paste and  good  wishes  and  promiscuous  and  col- 
lective hugging  poured  out  on  them,  and  not 
arrived  at  this  half  grown  but  thoroughly  in^- 
spired  camp,  obsessed  with  the  idea  that  he  was 
somewhat  of  a  hero — ^well,  it  couldn't  be  done. 
And  the  strange  part  of  it  is  that  no  one,  neither 
regular  officer,  reserve  or  even  one  of  the  150 


SCRUB   OAK  AND   DUST  5 

civilian  cooks,  has  attempted  to  beat  them  out 
of  this  Httle  idea. 

But  after  all  probably  most  of  the  1,942  were 
so  busy  registering  thrills  and  posting  big  re- 
solves and  readjusting  their  minds  to  the  fact 
that  they  were  on  a  great  and  glorious  adventure 
and  not  being  led  away  to  a  slave  market  or  open 
galley  that  they  never  bothered  to  think  about 
this  hero  stuff.  They  were  starting  down  a  new 
trail  to  a  new  life  that  has  the  magic  thrill  of  the 
unknown.  They  were  going  forth  to  adventure, 
and  behind  them  were  the  shops  and  factories 
and  stores  and  offices  and  all  the  life  they  had 
known  for  their  twenty-one  or  thirty-one  years. 
Adventure  was  ahead — possibly  the  Great  Ad- 
venture. 

So  they  came  to  camp  to-day  with  joy  in  their 
hearts.  The  three  special  troop  trains  that  had 
brought  them  from  the  city  seemed  like  nothing 
so  much  as  football  specials  on  their  way  to  the 
great  game  of  the  season.  In  each  car  were  three 
or  four  little  cliques  who  smoked  each  other's 
cigarettes  and  didn't  mind  each  other's  discords, 
and  then  in  other  moments  talked  a  bit  seriously 


6         BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

about  the  great  game  that  was  to  begin  this 
same  afternoon. 

The  only  other  comparison  that  comes  to  the 
mind  is  a  pohtical  rally  and  excursion.  Prob- 
ably the  tin  horns  and  the  canvas  signs  and  flags 
gave  it  this  political  angle.  But  whether  it  had 
the  college  or  the  more  mature  touch  is  of 
small  moment. 

''Berlin  or  Bust!"  ''From  the  Bowery  to 
France!"  "Yaphank  -  Paris  -  Berlin  Special!" 
Such  signs  as  these  were  chalked  on  the  side  of 
the  cars,  and  inside  the  men  were  already  learn- 
ing old  American  army  classics  that  other  boys 
are  singing  over  there — "You're  in  the  Army 
Now!"  "The  Infantry,  the  Infantry!"  and 
half  a  dozen  others  in  their  original  unexpurgated 
texts. 

For  the  most  part  the  only  regulation  army 
uniform  the  majority  of  them  wore  was  a  wrist 
watch,  and  a  careful  census  of  the  three  troop 
trains  led  one  to  believe  that  this  sturdy  band  of 
1,942  young  embryo  soldiers  were  carrying  more 
wrist  watches  than  all  New  York's  5,000,000 
could  have  mustered  a  year  ago.    Now  and  then 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST  7 

an  ^*0.  D."  hat  would  show  itself  and  again  an 
"O.  D."  shirt  and  once  in  a  while  a  full  uniform, 
but  mostly  they  came  in  mufti. 

As  each  long  troop  train  puffed  into  the 
half  born  station  and  camp  terminal  the  men 
were  lined  up  alongside  their  cars  and  under 
the  charge  of  young  training  camp  officers 
marched  to  the  barracks  that  had  been  assigned 
them.  Then  came  the  gallant  charge  against 
the  noon  mess.  Now  pork  and  beans,  bread, 
coffee  and  rice  pudding  may  not  sound  so 
tremendously  impressive,  but  just  the  same  it  is 
most  satisfactorily  filling,  and  when  cooked  by 
Waldorf  chefs  and  Ritz-Carlton  second  cooks, 
it's  the  sort  of  army  chuck  that  men  would 
fight  for. 

With  mess  over,  the  very  delicate  ceremony 
of  initiating  the  men  into^the  solemn  rites  and 
benefits  of  dishwashing  was  held.  And  washing 
aluminum  plates  and  implements  in  cold  water 
and  drying  them  on  company  dishcloths  chained 
to  the  sides  of  the  barracks  is  a  severe  test  on 
the  kind  of  stuff  that  heroes  are  made  of.  But 
George  W.  Perkins,  Jr.,  late  of  Princeton,  and 


8         BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Lee  Hor,  who  used  to  serve  men  and  women  in 
the  Imperial  Restaurant,  4  Pell  street,  before  he 
went  into  the  Army  of  Freedom,  and  Harry 
Booton,  D.  S.  O.  who  received  four  wounds  at 
the  battle  of  the  Marne  fighting  under  the  British 
Union  Jack  and  begged  and  pleaded  with  the 
board  where  he  had  registered  as  an  alien  to 
take  him  until  they  did,  and  the  rest  of  the 
1,942  washed  away  and  showed  that  they  had 
the  right  sort  of  stuff  in  them. 

Then  came  the  collection  of  red  cards  and 
the  assignment  to  cots  and  then  the  personal 
interviews  with  the  officers,  where  every  man 
described  the  triumphs  of  his  past  life  and  told 
his  preference  for  just  the  kind  of  military 
service  in  which  he  thought  he  would  be  happiest 
and  win  the  most  medals. 

And  then  came  a  blow  that  was  almost  as 
severe  as  the  dishwashing.  Each  man  was  told 
that  he  must  take  a  complete  and  thorough  bath 
before  7  o'clock  the  next  morning.  Now  a  citi- 
fied bath  hath  few  terrors,  but  that  does  not 
apply  to  any  such  openwork,  self-ventilated  and 
natural  temperatured  shower  bath  and  shower 


SCRUB  OAK  AND   DUST  9 

water  as  are  popular  this  early  autumn  season 
in  a  training  camp.  The  water  is  clear  and  cold 
— ^wow,  how  cold! — ^and  the  breezes  blow  in  and 
through  and  around  and  under  and  down  from 
the  top  of  the  temporary  showers. 

But  just  as  every  man  had  washed  up  his 
dishes  like  a  neat  young  bride  so  did  each 
youngster  slip  under  that  nerve  testing  shower 
and  whoop  and  yell  and  snort  and  swear  and 
then  hop  out  and  rub  down  with  a  rough  old 
army  towel  and  then  feel  so  good  that  they  all 
but  ate  the  new  pine  barracks  before  supper 
was  ready  and  served. 

Following  a  robust  evening  meal,  broader  and 
bigger  and  deeper  than  the  noon  mess,  came 
more  heart  to  heart  talks  with  the  officers,  and 
all  the  while  speculation  about  just  how  long 
it  would  be  before  they  would  be  strolling  into 
Berlin.  It  is  just  as  well  to  start  this  discussion 
now,  because  there  never  will  be  another  evening 
as  long  as  the  men  are  here  in  camp  that  they'll 
not  be  worrying  their  happy,  tired  heads  about 
the  same  thing. 

But  all  this  is  only  with  the  very  material  side 


'i 


10       BLOWN   IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

of  the  camp.  The  spirit  in  the  new  army  men  is 
pronounced  to  be  splendid  and  beyond  criticism. 
From  the  commanding  general  down  to  the 
lowUest  shavetail  the  officers  are  singing  the 
praises  of  this  initial  sample  of  Uncle  Sam's  new 
style  of  fighting  men.  And  first  class  fighting 
men  and  real  American  soldiers  they  will  be, 
worthy  of  every  tradition  that  om*  arms  have 
established. 

But  all  this  is  hardly  for  the  ears  of  innocent 
young  men  who  have  not  even  yet  fully  mastered 
the  primitive  art  and  science  of  army  kicking. 
But  leave  it  to  these  boys  to  do  that.  This  first 
night  they  sleep  the  sleep  that  only  a  cool  night, 
warm  blankets  and  a  tired  body  and  happy 
minds  can  bring.  Tomorrow  morning  at  6 
o'clock  a  certain  negro,  George  Gabriel  James, 
a  private  in  Company  F,  Fifteenth  New  York 
Infantry,  will  blow  his  brass  bugle  over  by  the 
"'bull  pen"  and  a  score  of  cruel,  coldhearted 
United  States  Army  sergeants  will  rout  out  1,942 
sleepy  young  heroes  and  fill  them  full  of  hot 
breakfast  and  shoo  them  in  batches  of  a  hundred 
to  their  last  and  final  military  examination. 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST 


11 


If  they  pass,  as  they  will,  they'll  be  shot  full 
of  typhoid  and  para  typhoid  serum  and  then 
assigned  to  their  companies  and  measured  for 
uniforms  and  altogether  spend 
another  right  busy  and  perfect 
day. 

It  is  a  great  life,  this  army 
one. 

2 — ^In  x\ll  His  Glory 

It  is  a  great  life   and  this 
Army   of   Freedom  is    a   won- 
derful    institution;     one     half 
million  boys  from  cities,  farms, 
factories,  stores,  flopped  down  on  these  raw,  half 
born,  yellow  pine  camps — ^i^esembling  nothing  so 
much  as  western   mining  towns — and  swished 
into  uniforms  and  drilled  into  army  types. 

And  it  is  a  serious  business,  even  to  the  stump- 
ing and  clearing  of  the  thousands  of  acres  in  some 
of  the  cantonments.  For  if  there  is  anything 
about  this  great  game  of  graduating  men  in 
five  or  six  months  with  the  title  of  Master  of  the 
Arts  of  War  that  is  really  serious  it's  putting 


12        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

picks  and  axes  into  tender  city  bred  hands 
whose  roughest  previous  tasks  have  been  the 
handling  of  typewriter  keys  and  subway  tickets. 
To  wit,  consider  the  tale  of  one  Vito  Catarino, 
amateur  axeman  and  lumberman. 

Vito  Catarino,  ex-master  barber,  Harlemite, 
and  one  time  citizen  of  sunny  Italy,  tucked  the 
tails  of  his  rented  spiketailed  coat  inside  his 
trousers  belt  and  cursed  solemnly  in  his  native 
tongue.  Private  Catarino  had  full  reason  to 
swear  solemnly.  His  ax  was  dull,  the  stumps 
were  tough  and  the  tails  of  his  rented  evening 
coat  flopped  continually  in  the  way. 

"Hey,  whatsa  matta  you  damma  coat.^  I 
tuckya  you  in  da  pants!  I  fixa  you!  Dis  one 
great  lifa,  dis  armee — ^no  fight  with  guns,  dig  da 
trees!  No  gotta  da  uniform,  no  gotta  da  barber 
tools!  What  for  kinda  de  life  dis  war. ^  I'm  what 
you  say — outta  de  luck!" 

Private  Vito  Catarino  regripped  the  handle 
of  his  axe  and  swore  softly,  sincerely  again. 
For  nine  years  the  roughest  work  Vito's  lily 
white  hands  had  done  was  to  apply  hair  oil  to 
scalps  at  10  cents  the  rub.    And  now  great  blist- 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST  13 

ers  were  popping  out  over  them  and  beads  of 
honest  perspiration  were  jumping  forth  on  Vito's 
brow. 

The  trick  curl  that  every  trick  barber  in  the 
world  drapes  over  the  forehead  had  long  since 
straightened  out  and  expired  without  a  gasp. 
The  last  faint  odour  of  eau  de  cologne,  that  chngs 
to  barbers  like  a  London  fog  on  a  spring  night, 
had  left  him  days  before. 
The  dashing  little  waxed 
mustache  now  drooped  crest- 
fallen and  hopeless.  And 
the  rented  dress  suit  that 
had  attended  more  marriages 
than  a  county  clerk,  more 
funerals  than  an  archbishop 
and  more  dinners  than  a 
candidate  for  coroner  was 
but  a  faded  memory  of  its  once  blushing, 
braided,  satin  lined  self. 

Of  a  rare  and  early  vintage,  when  a  dress  suit, 
like  a  diamond  ring,  could  not  be  purchased  by 
every  necktie  salesman  in  the  world  for  two 
down  and  one  a  month,  this  dress  suit  was  a  high 


14        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

back,  noble  old  institution  that  deserved  a  far 
better  fate  than  to  have  its  once  proud  tails 
drawn  up  and  tucked  within  its  own  pants. 
This  last,  however,  is  not  exactly  correct,  be- 
cause the  pants  that  our  hero  wore  were  not  the 
original  pants  of  the  suit,  though  for  the  last 
two  years  they  had  always  gone  forth  with  the 
coat  on  errands  of  mercy  and  of  song  and 
laughter  and  wine  and  wimmin.  And  now  they 
were  in  the  great  army  of  freedom  helping  to 
make  the  world  safe  for  democracy,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  assist  Private  Vito  Catarino  from 
being  branded  as  a  deserter  and  a  coward  to 
this  his  adopted  land. 

"I  ain't  da  soldier — ^I'm  da  woodchop,"  he 
muttered  on:  "Fine  bizness  no,  a  fine  shaver 
like  I  in  da  armee  in  a  dress  suit  choppin'  da 
stumps.    Fine  bizness." 

Private  Catarino  rested  on  his  ax  handle  and 
let  his  mind  swing  back  to  the  days  when  he 
cut  hair,  any  style,  for  25  cents,  and  shaved 
either  once  or  twice  over  for  15  cents.  Them 
was  the  days — ^parties,  balls,  clubs,  dinners, 
suppers,  movies,  weddings — ^ah,  weddings — ^his 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST  15 

sweet  bit  of  memory  was  changed  by  the  very 
thought  of  the  word. 

Was  it  not  a  wedding  that  had  brought  dis- 
grace, laughter  and  heaped  coals  of  contumely 
on  him?  Ah,  well  did  he  remember.  'Twas  but 
yesterday  instead  of  full  two  weeks  before  when 
he  rented  this  wonderful  dress  suit,  and,  with 
his  gorgeous  red  speckled  silk  shirt,  pink  bow 
tie,  black  patent  leather  pumps  borrowed  from 
a  fellow  barber,  and  the  stunning  green  Alpine 
hat,  started  forth  on  that  bright  Sunday  morn- 
ing to  the  church. 

Ah,  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom  and  the 
flowers!  And  then,  ah,  me!  the  dinner  and  the 
dance  party!  Six  o'clock  Monday  morning  it 
was  when  with  dress  suit  intact  he  had  reached 
home,  and  there  a  special  delivery  letter  awaited 
him,  and  in  it  was  the  fatal  little  red  card  noti- 
fying him  that  he  was  to  report  at  7  o'clock  that 
same  morning  to  his  local  board. 

"I  no  go,"  he  swore.  "I  am  an  Italliano. 
I  no  go." 

But  Vito  went,  dress  suit,  green  hat,  pumps 
and  all.  And  ten  minutes  later,  in  the  same 


16        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

dress  suit,  with  the  two-fifty  rent  still  due,  he 
started  forth  on  his  army  career. 

And  what  a  sensation  he  was!  No  barber, 
not  even  the  High  Mystic  Shaver  of  the  Safe 
and  Sanitary  Order  of  Tonsorial  Artists  at  con- 
vention time,  ever  created  such  a  sensation  as 
did  Vito  Catarino  of  Harlem.  And  he  continued 
to  be  a  sensation.  Uniforms  were  short  and  the 
shoes  were  coming,  and  although 
Vito  was  assigned  to  the  doggy 
Company  C  of  the  304th  Machine 
Gun  Battalion  he  continued  to 
wear  out  the  dress  suit  and  the 
pumps. 

Finally  an  army  overcoat  was 
wrapped  around  the  bashful  suit 
and  the  pants  that  once  strode 
among  the  best  of  them.  And 
the  shoes  were  replaced  by  a  pair 
of  trench  brogans  and  the  gorgeous  green  hat 
by  an  army  headpiece.  But  the  coat  wore  on, 
and  the  pants  wore  on,  and  the  silk  shirt 
lost  its  pink  spots  and  the  tie  dropped  off  in 
a  panic. 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST  17 

"All  right,  you  men.  Report  to  barracks  at 
once,"  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  stump  clean- 
ing detail  ordered  late  this  afternoon.  "You 
are  to  be  marched  to  the  Q.  M.  depot  and  get 
your  full  issue  of  uniforms." 

Private  Vito  Catarino,  ex-barber,  dropped 
his  ax  and  pulled  out  the  tails  of  his  dress  coat. 
Then  he  brushed  a  bit  of  the  dust  and  grime  and 
dirt  off  the  once  satin  fronting  and  smoothed 
out  a  few  of  the  wrinkles. 

And  so  with  its  tails  flying  and  the  band  play- 
ing the  coat  of  a  thousand  tales  went  out  in  a 
blaze  of  glory. 

3 — ^A  Matter  of  Opinion 

It  takes  time  to  make  soldiers — ^just  as  it 
would  take  time  to  make  a  first-class  wood 
chopper  out  of  the  barber  from  Harlem — but 
it  doesn't  take  long  to  make  a  soldier's  heart. 
And  just  as  army  pals  are  found  in  a  night  so  is 
the  loyalty  and  love  of  a  rookie's  original  outfit 
born  in  a  day.  It's  part  of  the  wonder  of  a 
service  that  is  full  of  wonders  and  magic. 

The  squatty,  unshorn,  unshaven  lad  "with 


18        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

dirt  behind  his  ears"  who  had  spent  every  other 
Saturday  night  in  his  whole  twenty-three  years 
hanging  around  the  corner  where  Mott  Street 
runs  into  the  Bowery  was  having  a  tough  time 


catching  the  tune  on  his  battered  open-work 
harmonica. 

"Listen,  this  is  the  way  it  goes:  Te-tum-de- 
dum,  te-tum-de-dum,  de-dum,  de-dumdum,  de- 
dum."  The  Regular  Army  top  sergeant  slowly 
went  through  the  piece.  "Don't  you  know 
Dunderbeck?  Holy  smoke!  Everybody  in  the 
army  knows  i:hat." 

But   the   rat   catcher,    having   been    in    the 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST  19 

National  Army  but  five  days  and  never  having 
had  to  live  down  any  time  spent  in  college, 
knew  not  the  famous  war  and  campus  classic. 
But  he  was  quick  on  the  fly  with  rough  and 
tumble  music,  and  in  four  or  five  minutes  he 
was  knocking  old  Dunderbeck  cold  and  dead. 

Then  with  the  top  sergeant  as  chorus-master 
and  cheer-leader  and  with  the  rat  catcher  pump- 
ing away  on  his  ancient  mouth  organ,  the  150 
boys  who  had  just  been  assigned  to  the  Three 
Hundredth  and  Something  or  Other  Regiment 
of  infantry  sang  of  the  glories  of  that  partic- 
ular arm  of  the  service: 

The  infantry,  the  infantry,  with  dirt  behind  their  ears, 
The  infantry,  the  infantry,  that  laps  up  all  the  beers. 
The  cavalry,  artillery,  the  bloomin'  engineers 
They  couldn't  lick  the  infantry  in  a  hundred  million  years. 

Over  in  an  artillery  barracks,  a  hundred  yards 
away,  another  top  sergeant  with  a  red  cord 
about  his  worn  and  cockey  service  hat  was  tell- 
ing what  a  fine,  first-class  bunch  of  plain  and 
fancy  bums  were  the  men  who  went  into  the 
infantry. 

"There  ain't  nothing  to  it,  men,"   he  was 


20        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

singing  in  prose  to  the  one  hundred  young  hope- 
fuls who  had  only  this  afternoon  been  brought 
together  to  make  up  the  skeleton  of  a  field 
artillery  regiment. 

"The  infantry  is  only  fur  roughnecks.  Artil- 
lery is  the  class — better  men,  better  ofiicers, 
better  everything.  Gee!  you  guys  don't  know 
how  lucky  you  are  to  be  over  here  instead  of 
being  in  the  infantry." 

Across  the  street  in  a  third  barracks  a  red- 
necked sergeant  was  sprawled  out  on  a  cot  with 
a  charmed  circle  of  men  squatted  about  him 
describing  the  glories  of  the  machine  gun  de- 
tachments. 

"Class  of  the  army — ^that's  what  I  mean. 
We're  the  guys  who  make  the  infantry  look  sick, 
and  you  might  as  well  be  workin'  in  a  machine 
shop  as  flirtin'  with  that  artillery.  You  otta 
see  them  little  girls  of  ours  work — oh  boy, 
they're  darlings.  Four  hundred  shots  a  minute 
and  worth  more  than  a  whole  company  of 
infantry.  Wait  till  them  machine  guns  of  ours 
come — they'll  just  about  send  us  across  right  off 
the  bat." 


SCRUB  OAK  AND  DUST 


21 


And   back   in   the   poor,   benighted   infantry 
barracks  they  were  merrily  singing: 

The  cavalry,  artillery,  the  bloomin*  engineers — 

They  couldn't  lick  the  infantry  in  a  hundred  million  years. 


CHAPTER   TWO 
PEGGING  AWAY 


CHAPTER  TWO 
PEGGING  AWAY 

I— ''Rain!  Yah  Big  Fool,  Rain!" 

AH  KEN  swim  an'  Ah  ken  float;  go  on  an' 
rain,  yah  big  fool,  rain — go  on." 

Private  Roscoe  Dickerson  Alexander, 
wet,  soaked,  half  drowned,  and  with  everything 
washed  away  but  the  wide  grin  he  wore  when 
he  left  New  York  city  three  hours  before,  slipped, 
splashed,  floundered,  but  kept  right  on  through 
the  downpour. 

*'Boy,  dis  ain't  no  army — dis  yar's  a  navy," 
Private  Roscoe,  newly  christened  to  his  high 
title  of  private,  shouted  against  the  storm  to 
equally  high  Private  Ezra  Jackson  Thomas. 
"Dis  ain't  no  place  for  us  Americans,  Ezra. 
Dis  yar  ain't  even  no  right  kind  for  a  white 
man.  Go  on,  yah  big  fool,  rain — ^go  right  on. 
Ah  ken  swim  an'  Ah  ken  float." 

25 


«6        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

And  the  rain  did  keep  right  on  shooting  down 
and  Roscoe  and  Ezra  and  1,559  other  negroes 
kept  on  splashing  from  Camp  Upton's  Grand 
Central  Station  to  the  barracks,  where  the  367th 
Infantry  Regiment  of  the  National  Army  of 
Freedom  will  be  permanently  located. 

It  was  a  rough  reception  to  tender  San  Juan 
Hill's  proud,  though  far  from  haughty,  fighting 
representatives,  but  even  the  worst  storm  in  all 
the  camp's  eight  weeks  of  history  could  not 
completely  mar  the  occasion.  For  these  dark 
birds,  along  with  the  Harlem  Hopes  and  the 
Brooklyn  Blacks,  rode  out  from  the  city  in  style 
— ^real  style,  such  as  no  plain  white  selected  men 
have  ever  ridden  in.  No  pensioned  sway  back 
wooden  cars  rudely  taken  from  some  Home  for 
Aged  Vehicles  brought  them  out,  but  brand 
new  spic  and  span  passenger  cars  of  the  latest 
1917  Long  Island  model.  And  there  was  class 
to  everything  about  this  contingent,  even  down 
to  the  storm. 

Then  an  even  dozen  of  the  new  soldiers  wore 
shamrocks  in  the  lapels  of  their  dripping  coats. 
And    shamrocks    and    chocolate    coloured    folk 


PEGGING  AWAY  27 

being  a  bit  of  a  strange  combination  for  Camp 
Upton,  one  diligent,  ambitious  amateur  war 
correspondent  questioned  the  ancestry  of  the 
shamrock. 

"Some  Irish  local  board  must  have  given  you 
the  decoration,  didn't  they,  Roscoe?"  he  asked. 

"No,  sah;  dem  'er  shamrocks  was  give  us 
by  a  coloured  girls'  club  up  in  Harlem — dey's 
de  emblem  of  de  club,  an'  say,  boss,  when  does 
we  get  our  uniforms?  'At's  what  I  wanta  know 
— ^when  does  we  get  all  'em  sogers  uniforms?" 

Then,  to  add  to  the  gaiety  of  the  occasion, 
there  was  J.  Samuel  Brown  and  his  American 
flag.  Approaching  a  Plattsburg  shavetail  de- 
tailed to  officially  welcome  the  negro  selected 
men  and  herd  them  down  to  their  barracks, 
J.  Samuel  grinned  until  his  ears  had  to  laugh  as 
his  mouth  went  by. 

"Gen'ral,  ken  I  get  youh  permission  to  carry 
dis  yer  flag  at  de  head  of  de  procession  as  dey 
marches  by?     Eh,  Gen'ral?" 

And  Gen'ral  Shavetail  having  had  most  of  his 
military  starchness  rained  out,  announced  that 
J.  Samuel  could  march  at  the  head,  rear  or  mid- 


28        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

die  of  the  procession,  all  the  way  there  and  back, 
or  words  to  that  effect,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned 
or  interested.     And  J.  Samuel  did — aright  at  the 

rhead  with  Ezra  and  Roscoe  and 
the  others  trooping  along  behind. 
But  it  was  not  flags  or  storm  or 
even  Gen'ral  Shavetail  that  really 
worried  these  1,559 — it  was  uni- 
forms. If  your  feet  get  wet  you 
can  dry  them  but  you  can't  be  a 
soldier   without   a   uniform.      And 


^  these  grinning,  merry  dark  boys — ■ 

bless  'em! — ^wanted  to  be  soldiers. 


2 — ^The  Rat  Catcher  from  Rivington  Street 

This  same  question  of  uniforms  sits  tight  in 
the  guest  room  of  every  rookie's  heart.  Col- 
oured lads — ^who,  incidentally,  will  add  to  the 
glory  and  name  of  the  famous  old  coloured  regi- 
ments of  the  U.  S.  regulars — the  barber  from 
Harlem  with  his  rented  dress  suit,  and  the  Rat 
Catcher,  all  think  and  dream  uniform  until  they 
get  them.  And  then — and  not  until  then — are 
they  happy. 


PEGGING  AWAY  29 

The  rat  catcher  from  Rivington  street 
stood  before  the  bulletin  board  in  his  barracks 
in  a  certain  company  of  the  305th  Infantry, 
National  Army  of  freedom.  Tucked  under  the 
curve  of  his  left  arm  was  the  last  bit  of  worldly 
goods  that  still  linked  him  with  the  old  Ufe — 
his  civilian  clothes. 

The  rat  catcher,  beady  eyed,  small  and 
swarthy,  as  an  ex-professional  rat  catcher  should 
be,  wanted  some  silver  change.  Over  in  the 
post  exchange  were  great  forty  story  high  piles 
of  crisp  golden  pies,  and  outdoors  it  was  muggy 
and  drizzly  and  damp — and  a  whole  piece  could 
turn  it  into  a  perfect  day. 

But  the  rat  catcher  had  not  the  price  of 
even  a  single,  stingy  half,  and  so  it  was  that 
he  was  spelling  out  the  typewritten  notices  on 
the  bulletin  in  the  faint  hope  of  disposing  for 
real  coin  of  the  pie  counter  of  the  clothes  that 
he  had  once  held  were  the  gladdest  rags  in  all 
the  East  Side. 

Three  ways,  he  read,  were  open  for  the  dis- 
posal of  his  once  proud  raiment — ^he  could  send 
them  home,  donate  them  for  the  Belgian  Relief, 


30        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

or  deposit  them  for  the  Belgian  ReUef  and  make 
a  claim  for  remuneration.  But  way  number 
one  held  no  interest  for  the  rat  catcher,  for 
the  simple  and  suflScient  reason  that  he  had  no 
home  to  send  them  to.  Way  number  two  had 
its  appeal  but  had  little  to  do  with  the  cher- 
ished ambition  to  possess  himself  of  one  flaky, 
mellow  apple  pie.  Way  number  three  offered 
the  only  hope  and  consolation. 

Now  a  httle  farther  down  in  the  printed  slip 
a  new  paragraph  bearing  the  signature  of 
Adjt.-Gen.  McCain  drew  his  careful  attention. 
Going  slowly,  the  grubby,  squatty  little  soldier 
worked  his  way  through  the  following: 

"The  Commission  for  Relief  in  Belgium  has 
received  a  pathetic  appeal  from  Belgium  for 
clothing  and  has  secured  permission  to  import 
400  tons  over  the  Dutch  frontier.  It  is  believed 
that  the  cast  off  civilian  clothing  of  the  drafted 
men  now  entering  cantonments  would  be  a 
most  valuable  and  welcome  contribution  for 
Belgian  Relief. 

"Each  drafted  man  in  your  cantonment 
could  feel  that  by  this  contribution  he  had  al- 


PEGGING  AWAY  31 

ready  begun  to  render  most  valuable  service  in 
the  cause  for  which  he  is  taking  up  arms." 

Sentiment  had  never  played  any  great  part 
in  the  rat  catcher's  life  or  profession,  nor 
had  any  consideration  of  shivering,  hungry 
Belgians  kept  him  from  enjoying  to  the  full 
such  meals  as  he  had  been  able  to  garner.  But 
now  for  some  strange  reason,  being  a  soldier  in 
Uncle  Sam's  uniform  and  facing  the  prospect 
of  going  over  there  where  those  same  unfortu- 
nates were  shivering,  cast  a  new  light  on  the 
deal. 

The  idea  that  any  one  could  possibly  want 
these  very  clothes  that  he  was  willing  and  hope- 
ful to  trade  for  a  pie  or  two,  the  rat  catcher 
mused.  Holy  gee!  Didn't  it  read  in  plain  black 
and  white  that  "every  drafted  man  could  feel 
that  by  this  contribution  he  had  already  begun 
to  render  most  valuable  service  in  the  cause  for 
which  he  is  taking  up  arms"? 

So  this  would  help,  eh.^  Some  poor  guy  over 
there  was  needing  that  bunch  of  ex-dude  clothes 
that  he  used  to  parade  dow^n  Rivington  street 
in  when  he  wanted  to  give  all  the  girls  a  treat. 


32        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

And  they  wanted  'em  over  there.  Well,  for  the 
love  of  Mike! 

This  would  be  a  good  time  to  have  the  rat 
catcher  sniffle  and  gulp  a  bit,  but  real  ex-rat 
catchers  don't  do  any  regular  sniffing  and  gulp- 
ing to  speak  of  outside  our  greatest  monthly 
publications  and  our  two  buck  dramey.  So 
what  our  hero  really  did  was  to  shuffle  over  to 
the  Captain's  room,  knock  at  his  door,  and  when 
he  was  inside  salute  and  tell  his  business. 

"Here's  some  rags  for  them  Belgians,  Cap- 
tain. Only  the  guy  what  gets  'em  will  think 
he  oughta  take  a  collection  for  us  over  here." 

Saluting,  the  rat  catcher  left  the  room, 
turned  into  the  big  main  floor  dormitory,  found 
his  cot  and  curled  up  on  it.  If  he  had  done 
something  handsome  and  was  just  a  little  of  a 
hero  he  never  knew  it.  Probably  he  never  will 
know  it,  but  this  winter  somewhere  in  Belgium 
there'll  be  some  one  who'll  hope  that  not  less 
than  a  Congressional  medal  of  honour  alights 
on  the  rather  puny  chest  of  the  rat  catcher 
from  Rivington  street. 


PEGGING  AWAY  33 

3— "Oi!  Oi!  Dat's  I" 

Many  there  are  in  these  pegging  away  days 
of  the  Army  of  Freedom's  adolescence  who 
find  it  hard  to  catch  the  great  moving  spirit  of 
patriotism.  It  takes  time  to  make  real  Ameri- 
cans— and  it's  a  queer,  human  job,  shot  full  of 
humour  and  pathos  and  pettiness  and  fineness. 
It's  a  queer,  human  job. 

The  Cohens,  who  this  year  wrested  from  the 
Smiths  the  honour  of  leading  the  New  York 
City  Directory,  have  captured  easily  all  family 
medals  at  Camp  Upton,  and  within  the  Cohen 
tribe  itself  the  Morris  Cohens  have  won,  hands 
down. 

There  came  one  morning  to  Capt.  Charles 
M.  Bell's  barracks  a  telegram  from  the  city 
addressed  to  Morris  Cohen,  Company  G,  306th 
Infantry.  Taking  down  his  company  roster 
Capt.  Bell  discovered  that  he  had  three  Morris 
Cohens,  exactly  the  same  in  name  and  outward 
appearance,  Hsted  and  in  good  standing. 

"We'll  try  them  out  until  we  find  the  right 
one,"  Capt.  Bell  suggested  to  his  first  sergeant. 


34        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Have  the  orderly  round  them  up  and  send 
them  here  one  at  a  time." 

Three  minutes  later  a  young  man  knocked 
at  the  Captain's  door,  entered,  saluted  and 
announced  that  he  was  Morris  Cohen. 

"Here's  a  wire  for  you,"  Capt.  Bell  announced, 
handing  him  the  message. 

Quickly  Morris  tore  open  the  envelope  and 
took  out  the  yellow  sheet.    When  his  eyes  raced 
through  the  message  he  burst  forth 
in  a  regular  peal  of  joy. 

"Oi!  Oi!"  he  shouted.  "I  got 
go  by  city.  Lookey,  Captain,  he 
say  I  get  claim.    Oi!   Oi!" 

Capt.  Bell  took  the  telegram 
and  glanced  through  it.  It  read: 
"Exemption  claim  granted.  Papers 
will  follow  immediately.  Chair- 
man Exemption  Board." 

"I  go  back,  no.^  Oi!  Oi! 
What  for  I  want  a  be  soldier.^  I  go  home. 
Oi!    Oi!" 

"Leave  your  wire  here,  Cohen;  that's  all," 
ordered  the  Captain.     Then  when  the  young 


PEGGING  AWAY  35 

soldier  had  left  he  turned  to  his  orderly  and  in- 
structed him  to  bring  on  his  next  Morris  Cohen. 

Two  minutes  later  another  knock  at  his  door. 
Enter  Morris  No.  2,  who  salutes  and  repeats: 
"I  am  Morris  Cohen,  sir."  Same  business  of 
examining  message  and  same  happy  cry. 

"I  knowed  it! — ^I  knowed  it!  Oi!  I  hurry  by 
my  packing.    Oi,  Oi!" 

"You're  positive  that  this  message  means 
you,  are  you  Cohen?"   Capt.  Bell  questioned. 

"Positiv!  Don't  I  got  a  fadder  and  mud- 
der  in  Russia  what  I  got  to  send  money  for? 
Don't  I  got  a  claim  in — ^ask  me,  mister,  don't  I?  " 

"That's  all,  you  may  go."  Then  turning  to 
the  orderly:  "You  can  bring  in  No.  3  now." 

No.  3  blundered  in  without  knocking  and  after 
being  reprimanded  was  handed  the  telegram. 

"Oi!  It's  me!  It's  me!  Ain't  it  fine?  I  go 
by  my  goil.  I  knowed  it  always.  Thanks,  Cap- 
tain.    Oi!     It's  me!" 

"Are  you  positive?" 

"Sure,  I'm  positively.  Don't  I  got  a  brudder 
what  can't  work?  Don't  I  got  a  claim  and 
everything?    Ask  me.  Captain,  don't  I?" 


36        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"All  right,  that's  all." 

"I  go  by  the  city  right  away  queck,  Captain — 
right  away,  no?" 

"Yes — aright  away,  no,"  answered  Capt.  Bell. 
"Just  for  fun  we'll  wait  until  the  papers  come. 
But  don't  let  that  spoil  any  of  your  pleasure." 

And  it  did  not.  Morris  Cohen,  No.  3,  was 
packing  away  just  as  merrily  at  6  o'clock  this 
evening  as  was  Morris  Cohen,  No.  2,  or  even 
the  original  Morris  Cohen,  No.  1.  It  was  a 
chance  that  any  Morris  Cohen  in  the  world  would 
have  taken  with  betting  even  and  a  clear  field. 

But  until  to-morrow  when  the  papers  arrive 
bearing  such  trifling  little  details  as  board  num- 
bers and  addresses  none  of  Company  G's  little 
family  of  Cohens  will  admit  the  possibility  of 
any  doubt.  Each  knows  that  the  other  Morris 
Cohens  are  but  rank  imposters. 

To-morrow  will  be  a  red-letter  day  in  the 
family  history. 


4 — "It's  Nae  Mair  a  Sang  tae  Me 


99 


A  QUEER  and  human  job — this  making  of  a 
real   American    National   Army.     The    Cohens 


PEGGING  AWAY  37 

help,  and  the  barber  from  Harlem  helps — and  a 
little  gnarled  man  from  across  the  seas  helps. 

There  was  a  black  band  around  the  left  sleeve 
of  Harry's  stubby  little  trick  coat,  the  coat  that 
all  of  Britain  and  half  of  America  loves.  The 
master  fun-maker  with  the  broken  heart  tried 
to  hide  it.  He  tried  to  hide  it  behind  the  smile 
that  has  made  kings  laugh  and  the  songs  that 
millions  have  shouted  for,  but  the  brave  attempt 
only  made  the  smile  finer  and  gave  to  the  songs 
a  new"  tenderness  and  beauty. 

Harry  sang  them  all,  "She's  My  Daisy," 
'*It's  Nice  to  Get  Up  in  the  Morning,"  and  the 
2,000  odd  soldiers  who  were  able  to  crowd  into 
the  old  ex-Chautauqua  Y.M.C.  A.  tent  sang  them 
with  him.  And  he  told  his  stories,  the  old  ones 
and  the  new  ones,  with  the  same  wonderful 
Scotch  twist,  and  pranced  about  with  those 
same  famous  gnarled  legs  of  his,  and  scattered 
the  same  smile.  But  there  on  his  left  sleeve  was 
the  narrow  black  ribbon,  and  every  man  who 
laughed  with  him  knew  that  Jock  was  dead — 
Harry's  own  supreme  contribution  to  the  great 
war — and  so  thev  knew  too  that  the  smile  was 


38        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

forced  and  the  gay  tales  were  only  tricks,  and 
that  what  this  fun-maker  really  wanted  to  do 
was  to  tell  about  Jock  and  how  he  died  like  a 
bero  in  the  trenches  of  France,  and  how,  in- 
stead of  being  a  joyous  fun-maker,  he  was  a 
lonely,  heart-broken  man,  who  was  willing  to 
do  his  bit  by  singing  to  soldiers. 

"Some  one  asked  me  to  sing  'There's  a  Wee 
Hoose  Amang  the  Heether,'  "  he  announced  to- 
ward the  end  of  his  programme,  the  smile  drop- 
ping as  he  spoke  the  words.  "Eh,  I  don'  know. 
The  last  time  I  sung  that  song  was  in  front  of 
Arras  in  France  before  15,000  Scottish  troops 
spread  out  in  a  great  horseshoe  about  me. 
That's  the  last  time  I  sung  it  and  ever  since  then 
its  nae  mair  been  a  sang  tae  me — ^it's  been  a 
hymn,  it  has." 

This  last  was  almost  in  a  whisper  and  the  2,000 
men  thought  that  now  he  would  tell  about  his 
boy  Jock — ^all  that  he  had  in  the  world.  For  a 
long  space  there  was  no  sound,  only  the  patter 
of  rain  on  the  ancient  canvas.  Then  just  the 
suspicion  of  a  sigh  and  then  the  smile. 


PEGGING  AWAY  39 

"It's  a  hymn  to  me  now,  boys,"  he  went  on. 
*'I  want  ye  to  learn  it  wi'  me — so  ye  can  sing  it 
when  ye  gat  there,  too.  It'll  do  ye  a  lot  of  good 
over  there." 

Once — ^twice — the  fun-maker  with  the  broken 
heart  sang  it,  and  then  slowly,  bashfully  and 
hesitatingly  the  2,000  took  it  up.  It  was  a  new 
"Home,  Sweet  Home,"  and  to  these  men  who 
some  day  soon  will  face  the  great  test  it  brought 
the  war  and  all  that  it  means  and  may  mean  in 
sacrifice  and  future  closer  and  surer  than  it  has 
ever  been  brought  to  them  before. 

And  after  they  had  sung  it  over  and  over  again 
and  then  swung  on  to  "Roaming  in  the  Gloam- 
ing" then  the  Harry  that  the  war  has  changed 
talked  for  a  few  minutes  of  the  great  respon- 
sibility and  privilege  that  is  theirs. 

"The  brawny,  tawny  hand  of  Britain  is  ready 
to  welcome  ye,  boys,"  he  went  on.  "We're  all 
in  it — in  this  great  melting  pot — and  when  we 
emerge  we  will  be  a  still  greater  and  better  civili- 
sation. The  world  is  on  fire  and  you  boys  are 
the  firemen  who  must  put  it  out.  And  you'll  do 
it — ^by  God,  you  will.     And  when  you  get  to 


40        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

France  and  put  it  out  don't  leave  one  wee  bit 
of  red  smouldering,  boys.     Put  it  out." 

And  then  this  new  Harry  compared  the  sol- 
diers of  America  to  the  lamp  lighter  who,  passing 
on  in  his  work,  leaves  behind  the  brilliant  street. 
*'You  boys  are  the  lamp  lighters  of  the  world. 
You're  going  to  light  up  civilisation  as  never 
before.  And  it  will  be  very  beautiful  that  your 
children  will  be  able  to  say,  *my  dad  lit  that 

light.' " 

When  the  cheers  had  died  down  there  was  a 
new  war  song — ^the  British  Brigade — a  song  that 
all  Britain  is  singing.  And  tears  forced  to 
smiles  flashed  in  Harry's  eyes.  The  close  of 
the  chorus  ran: 

When  we  all  gather  'round  the  old  fireside 

And  the  old  mother  kisses  her  son 
All  the  lassies  will  be  loving  all  the  laddies, 

The  laddies  who  fought  and  won. 

The  smile  was  gone  from  the  master  fun- 
maker's  lips  and  eyes.  His  heels  clicked  and 
his  hand  snapped  to  his  Scotch  tam-o'-shanter 
in  salute — ^not  the  salute  that  the  men  of  Camp 
Upton  are  being  taught,  but  one  that  3,000,000 


PEGGING  AWAY  41 

other  brave  soldiers  are  using  on  the  battle 
front. 

"Fought  and  won,"  he  repeated,  "American 
soldiers,  I  salute  you!" 

Then  with  the  2,000  drawn  to  their  feet  and 
cheering,  the  master  fun-maker  turned  to  the  exit. 

There  was  a  black  band  around  the  left  sleeve 
of  the  stubby  little  brown  trick  coat — ^the  coat 
that  all  of  Britain  and  half  of  America  loves. 

5 — ^Tips  ON  Telegrams 

From  Harry  Lauder  to  Blackey  the  Wop  is  a 
man-size  jump — ^but  this  is  a  man-size  army. 
And  if  there  is  any  one  thing  that  a  man-sized 
army  will  fight  for  it's  its  days  off.  So  let  there 
be  tips  on  telegrams  for  the  next  army  that 
follows. 

"Say,  you're  a  lucky  stiff — to  be  gettin'  to  go 
home  on  Saturday  morning  again.  I'm  all  out 
of  luck."  Blackey  the  Wop,  having  this  Friday 
beheld  the  week  end  pass  of  Private  Johnny 
Grimaldi,  cursed  gently  in  mother  tongue  and 
then  swung  without  a  break  into  the  virile  lan- 
guage of  his  adopted  land. 


42        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Know  what  they  done  to  me?"  continued 
Blackey  the  Wop,  high  private  of  Company  H, 
306th  Infantry,  army  of  freedom. 

"They  gives  me  the  horse  laugh  when  I  takes 
that  telegram  into  my  Cap.  And  that  was 
some  telegram,  too.     Lookey  at  it." 

Private  Johnny  Grimaldi,  once  of  Red  Hook, 
Brooklyn,  and  holder  in  his  own  gang  of  a  posi- 
tion corresponding  to  that  of  Second  Lieutenant, 
took  the  yellow  sheet  and  slowly  spelled  it  out. 
It  ran: 

"Mother  very  low.     Come  at  once. — Clara." 

"You  oughta  said  it  was  your  wife  who  was 
dyin',"  Private  Grimaldi  contributed.  "You 
can't  never  get  by  with  that  kind  of  rough  stuff 
with  our  Captain.  You  gotta  have  nothin' 
less  than  a  wife  sick  or  else  shoot  one  of  these 
things  at  him." 

From  the  right  hand  pocket  of  his  "O.  D." 
blouse  Private  Johnny  took  out  a  folded  docu- 
ment that  bore  all  the  ear-marks  of  having  been 
made  by  official  hands  and  sealed  with  many 
and  divers  seals. 

"That'll  get  you  out,  kid,  every  time."    Pri- 


PEGGING  AWAY  43 

vate  Johnny  expanded  his  chest  three  inches. 
"Get  one  of  them  and  you  can  always  beat  it 
home." 

Although  Blackey  the  Wop  knew  from  former 
personal  contact  with  just  such  official  docu- 
ments just  what  this  important  paper  carried, 
he  waded  through  it  slowly  and  thoroughly. 
He  saw  that  according  to  the  fable  typed  on  its 
lily  white  face  one,  John  Grimaldi  of  Brooklyn, 
was  summoned,  advised,  entreated,  requested, 
ordered,  corpus  delictied,  habeas  corpused  and 
generally  invited  to  appear  in  said  court  on  the 
said  day  of  November  3d  to  answer  to  the 
charges  of  assault  and  battery,  not  to  say  a 
sundry  few  punctures  and  slashes  on  the  person 
of  one  Mike,  the  Monk.  In  lieu  of  failing  to 
report  the  sum  of  $300  in  real  coin  of  the  Re- 
public would  go  forthwith  to  the  county  of 
Kings  with  best  wishes  and  many  happy  returns 
of  the  day. 

"I'd  almost  take  one  of  them  black  lamps 
you  got  hooked  on  you  fur  a  sure  bet  to  get 
home  hke  that,"  Blackey  the  Wop  announced. 
*' You'll  get  out  without  no  fine  or  nothing  and 


44        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

have  two  trips  home.  But  the  next  time  they 
might  put  you  in  the  hospital." 

Private  Grimaldi,  ex-Red  Hook  gangster, 
raised  his  right  hand  unconsciously  to  his  right 
cheek  and  felt  of  a  large  walnut-sized  bump 
thereon.  Above  the  bump  extended  a  bluish- 
yellow  circle  that  still  bore  silent  testimony  of 
a  terrible  wallop  that  had  once  been  dehvered 
there. 

And  through  Private  Grimaldi's  brain  space 
there  trailed  the  verdant,  fresh  memory  of  his 
previous  week's  visit  to  home,  with  its  subse- 
quent rather  violent  adventure.  He  recalled  as 
if  it  were  but  an  hour  ago  his  masterful  telegram 
dictated  to  a  friend  in  the  city  from  the  nearby 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  on  that  Friday  morning  one  week 
ago,  and  sent  him  as  per  orders  that  same 
afternoon. 

"Come  home  the  worst  way,"  it  had  read. 
And  this  moment  he  recalled  the  pleasant  little 
answer  of  First  Lieutenant  Czak:  ''Well,  I 
guess  you  better  take  the  Long  Island." 

But  for  all  that  it  was  his  turn  to  be  in  the 
lucky  twenty-five  per  cent,  who  were  allowed 


PEGGING  AWAY  45 

passes.  And  so  fixed  up  in  shiny  new  uniform 
Johnny  had  gone  forth  for  to  adventure. 

But  that  Saturday  night  while  innocently 
giving  the  maidens  of  Red  Hook  a  treat  Johnny 
had  run  into  a  pair  from  the  rival  gang,  and 
without  opening  diplomatic  negotiations  or 
making  peace  offerings  action  was  immediately 
started.  And  Johnny,  having  been  studying 
military  tactics  and  the  history  of  the  European 
war,  knew  that  a  drive  in  the  hand  is  worth  two 
in  the  spring,  and  did  most  of  the  opening. 

The  casualties,  while  sUght,  were  painful,  and 
enumerated  as  follows: 

Four  black  eyes,  one  broken  nose  bridge,  one 
twisted  thumb,  five  front  teeth,  three  arrests  on 
charge  of  assault  and  battery. 

And,  being  a  soldier  a-servin'  in  the  great 
army  of  freedom.  Private  Grimaldi  was  released 
on  $300  bail  and  returned  to  camp,  Monday. 
To-day,  armed  with  the  papers,  he  sought  and 
obtained  a  pass  for  to-morrow  to  report  to  the 
court  in  his  native  village  of  Brooklyn. 

"It  ain't  what  it  used  to  be,"  pined  poor 
Blackey  the  Wop.     ''Until  two  or  three  weeks 


46        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

ago  any  old  kind  of  a  telegram  woulda  got  you 
through,  but  now  you  got  to  have  a  doctor's 
certificate,  a  wedding  license  and  a  cash  guar- 
antee before  them  oflScers  will  give  you  a  tumble. 
She  sure  ain't  what  she  used  to  be  in  this  army." 

And  therewith  Private  Blackey  the  Wop 
spoke  a  great  and  lasting  truth.  Never  again 
will  the  old  days  when  by  wire  you  could  kill 
off  wives,  mothers,  sweethearts  and  fathers 
without  thought  or  choice  come  again. 

And  so  it  is  that  never  again  will  Friday 
afternoons — ^for  more  than  a  month  held  sacred 
as  the  proper  time  for  fake  messages  calling  the 
rookies  back  to  the  city  for  week  ends — seem 
the  same.  Instead  of  having  fifty  to  a  hundred 
fake  messages  to  smile  over  company  comman- 
ders now  have  less  than  a  dozen  to  turn  down. 
It's  almost  part  of  the  routine  now. 

The  mills  of  the  God  of  War  grind  slowly,  but 
they  grind  exceedingly  fine — and  strange  as 
well. 

6 — ^FiRST  Class  Fightin'  Men 

And  these  same  mills  keep  everlastingly  at 
their    slow    and    fine    and    strange    grindings. 


PEGGING  AWAY  47 

And  their  grist — upstanding,  clean  young  sol- 
diers— ^justify  their  existence.  They  are  war's 
great  alibier. 

"You  don't  get  nuttin'  but  a  revolver,  and 
ya  can't  use  that  unless  your  wounded  are  fired 
on.  Ugh!  I  thought  I  was  going  to  be  a  regu- 
lar soldier  and  not  no  female  nurse." 

Private  Larry  Doyle,  attached  to  the  sani- 
tary train  of  the  304th  Field  Artillery,  flipped 
aw^ay  the  butt  of  his 
cigarette  and  swore 
softly,  almost  sweet- 
ly. He  was  peeved 
— ^he  was  sore.  His 
was  the  mood  that 
mutinies — ^real  muti- 
nies, though  only  vociferous  ones — are  born 
in.  The  gi'eat  Army  of  Freedom  had  jipped 
him. 

Instead  of  transforming  him — a  $16  order 
clerk  in  a  grocery  store — ^into  a  two  fisted, 
bloodthirsty  fighting  man,  this  promising  young 
army  had  shoved  him  down  the  manly  scale 
until    he   was    naught    but    a   non-combative 


48        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

hanger-on.  Although  officially  a  gun  toter, 
his  weapon  might  just  as  well  be  a  toy  pistol 
for  all  the  shooting  fun  he  could  have  with 
it. 

"I  didn't  put  in  no  claim  for  exemption," 
Private  Larry  went  on.  "I  was  perfectly  will- 
ing to  be  a  soldier,  but  I  want  to  be  a  soldier, 
and  what  did  they  do  to  me?  Give  me  a  rifle 
and  let  me  have  a  real  chance?  I  should  guess 
not.  They  sticks  me  over  here  in  this  outfit 
to  do  everything  but  what  a  soldier  is  expected 
to  do. 

"Sanitary  train,  me  eye!  Inspecting  mess 
kitchens  and  carryin'  stretchers  and  lolly  pop- 
ping around  the  hospital  and  bein'  handy  man, 
nursemaid,  hired  girl,  fly  swatter  and  little  curly 
haired  boy  for  a  lot  of  regular  fightin'  guys. 
Sanitary  train — safe  and  sanitary.  Don't  that 
beat  hell?" 

Private  Larry's  question  called  for  a  strong 
affirmative,  and  he  received  it.  It  was  but  a 
crumb  of  consolation,  but  it  helped. 

"And  just  think,  this  is  what  I  get  because 
I   asked   for   the   artillery.     I   always   thought 


PEGGING  AWAY  49 

artillery  was  the  classy  bunch,  but  never  again. 
I'm  offa  these  artillery  guys  for  life.  The  in- 
fantry's the  real  McCoy.  You  can  get  action 
there.  That's  me — ^I  want  a  real  gun  so  I  can 
shoot  whenever  I  darn  please,  *Only  use  your 
side  arms  when  your  wounded  is  fired  on' — 
now,  ain't  that  a  fine  order  to  hand  a  fellow 
like  me. 

"Say,  do  you  know  what's  going  to  happen 
around  this  joint .^  Well,  I'll  tell  you — ^half  of 
the  twenty-six  men  in  this  pink  tea  sanitary 
train  has  applied  to  be  assigned  somewhere  else. 
We're  for  going  into  the  infantry,  where  you  can 
get  something  for  your  money.  Let  some  of 
these  nuts  who're  afraid  to  do  any  fighting  come 
over  here  and  take  our  jobs. 

"And  say,  listen!  If  anybody  tells  you  us 
conscripts  are  afraid  to  fight  and  don't  want  to 
get  up  in  front  where  the  music  is  just  refer  'em 
to  the  sanitary  train — or  what  used  to  be  the 
sanitary  train." 

And  with  this  bit  of  compressed  air  off  his 
chest  Private  Larry  turned  on  his  heels  and  took 
his  righteous  cause  into  his  barracks.     But  a 


50        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

wish  went  with  him — a  wish  that  he  may  for- 
ever have  an  infantryman's  famous  and  well 
known  "dirt  behind  his  ears." 
It's  so  little  to  ask  for  after  all. 


CHAPTER  THREE 
ALLIES  ALL 


CHAPTER  THREE 
ALLIES  ALL 

1 — ^Kelly  of  the  Engineers 

THE  other  Kelly  was  known  as  Kelly  of 
the  Foreign  Legion.  Some  day  this 
one  will  be  known  as  Kelly  of  the  En- 
gineers— or  may  be  even  Kelly  of  the  National 
Army. 

The  other  Kelly  was  pure  American  and 
proudly  gave  his  life  for  France  and  Britain  and 
freedom.  This  Kelly,  a  Scot,  gave  two  brothers 
and  a  sister  to  the  same  glorious  cause  and  now 
stands  ready  to  make  the  great  final  sacrifice 
for  America.  Some  day  you  will  read  again 
about  this  Kelly  of  the  Engineers. 

Down  at  the  bottom  end  of  the  two  mile  deep 
U  that  encloses  the  1,500  odd  buildings  of  this 
thriUing,  stirring  caldron  where  all  races  and 
classes  and  colours  are  welded  into  American 

^  53 


54        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

soldiers,  lies  the  engineers'  section.  On  the  very 
top  of  the  highest  knoll  overlooking  the  great 
spread  of  shining  pine  buildings  rests  the  bar- 
racks that  holds  Company  B,  302d  Engineers, 
Capt.  Frederick  Greene  commanding. 

The  engineers  are  picked  men  and  with  40,000 
to  choose  from  they  have  drawn  talent  enough 
to  build  another  Panama  Canal  or  a  second 
Woolworth  Building.  Scores  of  their  privates 
hold  college  engineering  degrees.  Other  scores 
have  been  practical  draftsmen  and  hundreds 
have  expert  trades  and  professions  that  make 
them  in  many  ways  the  brains  of  the  whole 
division. 

There  was  assigned  to  the  engineers  Septem- 
ber 10  from  the  first  quota  of  selected  men  sent 
down  from  New  York  city,  a  likely  young  man 
of  fair  height  and  average  physique  whose  trade 
of  expert  camouflage  destroyer  painter  prom- 
ised to  be  of  special  value  to  this  hard  working 
and  dangerous  branch  of  the  service.  His  name 
was  James  Kelly,  and  when  Capt.  Greene  first 
ran  through  the  mustering  cards  of  his  company 
he  turned  to  his  First  Lieutenant  and  remarked 


ALLIES  ALL  55 

that  indeed  this  was  a  weird  army  to  have 
among  a  thousand  other  strange  things  a  Scot 
born  in  Glasgow  who  bore  the  rich  Irish  name 
of  James  Kelly. 

But  even  Captains  of  engineer  companies 
who  only  have  to  work  fifteen  or  eighteen  hours 
a  day  may  soon  forget  all  about  Scots  with  Irish 
names,  so  it  was  that  for  the  past  month  James 
Kelly  has  been  nothing  more  to  Capt.  Greene 
than  an  upstanding  young  soldier  who  learned 
quickly,  drilled  well  and  had  the  earmarks  of  a 
possible  non-com.  He  was  one  of  the  250,  just 
a  young  man  down  from  the  city  for  whom  ap- 
parently the  war  was  away  off  in  miles  and 
time. 

But  yesterday  afternoon  the  first  sergeant 
handed  Private  Kelly  a  letter  that  bore  foreign 
postmarks  and  across  the  back  was  stamped  a 
black  square  marked  "Passed  by  Censor." 
Kelly  sat  down  on  his  cot  and  read  it.  Then 
he  stared  straight  in  front  of  him  for  a  long  time. 
The  letter  and  the  foreign  marked  envelope 
slipped  from  his  fingers  to  the  floor. 

That  evening  after  mess  while  he  was  smoking 


56        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

with  his  bunkie  pal  Kelly  handed  over  his  letter 
for  him  to  read. 

"Well,  ain't  that  a  shame,"  the  bunkie 
stuttered  when  he'd  read  half  way  through. 
"Yer  sister  killed  by  them  Germans  while  she 
was  tendin'  wounded  up  near  the  front.  God! 
Say,  I'm  sorry,  Jimmy." 

"She  was  shot  through  the  leg  a  year  ago," 
Private  Kelly  slowly  explained.  "We  were  all 
scared  to  have  her  to  go  back  again,  but  she  did, 
and  this  is  what  happened.  That's  three  now. 
My  older  brother,  Kenneth,  who  enlisted  at 
the  start  of  the  war  in  the  Seventh  Brigade, 
Scottish  Highlanders,  was  killed  a  year  ago. 
Then  there  was  my  kid  brother — ^he  wasn't 
nothing  but  a  nineteen-year-old  kid — ^who  en- 
hsted  in  the  Black  Watch  and  was  killed  in 
France  about  six  months  ago.     That's  three." 

Jimmy's  bunkie  swallowed  hard.  For  the 
first  time  in  all  his  twenty-three  years  of  nar- 
row city  life  deep  tragedy  and  blinding  hatred 
of  war  was  brought  home  to  him.  Here  was 
something  concrete,  something  that  he  could 
grab  and  swing  to  France  upon. 


ALLIES  ALL  57 

"Three  of  youse!"  he  repeated  to  himself. 
"And  one  of  'em  a  girl — a  Red  Cross  nurse! 
What  do  ya  think  of  that?   Three  of  youse!" 

Private  Kelly's  face  was  flushed,  but  his  tone 
was  low  and  cold. 

"They  tortured  my  brother  to  death  because 
he  wouldn't  tell  the  Germans  about  our  plans 
for  mining — that's  what  a  soldier  captured  with 
him  who  escaped  wrote  me.  They  tortured 
him  till  he  died." 

Jimmy's  bunkie  had  no  word  for  that,  but  a 
half  minute  later  he  turned  and  asked,  "Why 
didn't  you  go  over  a  long  time  ago.^" 

"I  tried  to  get  in  every  way  I  knew  how.  I 
went  home  the  first  year  of  the  war  and  tried 
to  enlist,  but  they  wouldn't  take  me — said  my 
teeth  were  bad  and  I  had  a  tobacco  heart.  Then 
I  went  back  after  my  first  brother  was  killed 
and  tried  again,  but  they  wouldn't  have  me. 
Then  when  America  went  into  the  war  I  tried 
to  enlist  in  the  regulars,  but  I  failed.  After  that 
I  thought  I'd  do  my  bit  by  helping  fix  up  Uncle 
Sam's  U-boat  hunters — ^I'm  an  expert  outside 
painter. 


58        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

*^When  the  drawing  came  off  in  Washington 
I  found  my  number  was  one  of  the  first  drawn, 
but  I  didn't  get  much  excited  because  I  figured 
they  wouldn't  let  me  pass  anyway.  I  reckoned 
this  would  be  about  my  last  chance,  so  I  knocked 
off  smoking  and  spent  $50  having  my  teeth  all 
fixed  up.  At  first  they  didn't  want  to  bother 
to  examine  me  at  the  local  board — ^>^ou  know 
I'm  still  a  British  subject,  although  I've  been 
over  here  eight  years.  But  I  told  'em  how 
badly  I  wanted  to  get  in  and  about  my  two 
brothers,  and  they  let  me  slip  through.  Now  I 
got  my  chance." 

Again  there  was  a  long  break  in  the  story. 
Jimmy's  bunkie  didn't  dare  try  to  talk,  so  he 
went  on  with  the  letter  that  had  been  written 
three  weeks  before  by  Jimmy's  mother.  Toward 
the  end,  after  all  about  how  the  sister  was  killed, 
there  was  a  paragraph  that  must  have  meant 
a  lot  to  Jimmy.    It  read : 

"You're  the  last  boy  I  have,  Jamie,  but  I 
thank  God  every  night  of  my  life  that  they're 
allowing  you  to  go  now.  Two  boys  and  a  girl 
is  a  lot  to  pay,  Jamie,  but  I'll  pay  all  rather  than 


ALLIES  ALL  59 

have  the  sacrifice  be  in  vain.  Oh,  thank  God 
for  America!" 

Slowly  Jimmy's  bunkie  folded  up  the  letter 
and  handed  it  back  to  the  Scot  with  the  Irish 
name. 

Some  day  you'll  again  hear  about  this  Kelly 
of  the  Engineers. 


f^ 


2 — ^Laundry  and  Machine  Gun 

And  Kelly  of  the  Engineers  is  to  have  help — 
sundry  and  varied  and  conglomerate  help — 
even    to    the    'Eathen  Chinee. 

In  the  piping  days  of  peace  a  Chinese  story 
had  to  be  well  plastered  with  joss  sticks,  idols, 
incense,  heathen  gods,  tomtoms,  pigtails,  flowing 
sleeves,  almond  eyes,  chop  suey,  chop  sticks  and 


60        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

chop  English.  To-day  a  Chinese  yarn  is  done 
up  in  regulation  "O.  D."  uniform,  clicking  heels, 
right  hand  salutes,  kitchen  pots  and  all  the  well- 
known  army  terms.  The  grand  old  game  of 
fantan  must  be  omitted,  gambling  being  quite 
against  the  regulations,  and  such  chance  draw- 
ing as  is  done  follows  strict  alphabetical  lines. 

Chin  Wall,  recent  laundry  expert  and  pro- 
prietor in  full  with  Sing  Ing  of  the  "Oriental 
Hand  Laundry"  in  East  155th  Street,  The 
Bronx,  silently  rolled  another  pill.  "Pill"  is 
used  with  proper  explanatory  note,  because 
whereas  in  the  rare  old  fiction  days  "cooking  a 
pill"  had  to  do  with  yen  hop,  to-day  it  tells  of 
naught  but  rolling  a  cigarette.  And  in  the 
great  democratic  army  of  freedom  all  men  of  all 
races  and  creeds,  colours,  sizes  and  nationalities 
roll  pills. 

With  his  cigarette  lighted  and  one  deep  inha- 
lation gained  Chin  settled  back  on  his  army  cot 
with  complete  Americanized  Oriental  satisfac- 
tion. 

"Great  life  if  you  don't  weaken,  eh,  Wah.^" 
Battling  Murphy,  one-time  Gopher,  contributed. 


ALLIES  ALL  61 

"Me  likee  almee  vely  much,"  Chin  announced. 
"Evly  lettle  ting  vely  fine." 

"Who's  this  pal  of  yours,  Wah — this  other 
Chinese,  Sing  Ing,  or  something  musical  like 
that?  Did  he  come  out  here  with  you?  He's 
always  sticking  around  you  like  you  owed  him 
some  dough  or  else  he  was  trying  to  nick  ya  for 
some.     Gimme  a  light." 

Chin  Wah  crossed  his  legs  and  then  passed 
over  his  lit  cigarette. 

"He  my  bludder  Ing.  He  wolka  tlee  years 
on  Hundled  flity-fif  stleet  wif  me." 

"Oh,  he's  your  brother,  eh?" 

"No  special  bludder;  he  my  plal.  He  come 
in  dlaft  wiv  me.     He  my  plal." 

In  the  two  days  that  Chin  Wah  and  his  pal 
had  been  in  Company  A,  304th  Machine  Gun 
Battalion,  Battling  Murphy,  the  Gopher, 
had  taken  up  most  of  his  off  hours  talking  to 
him.  Chin's  frontal  attack  on  the  Bat's  brand 
of  the  King's  own  English  was  about  the  funniest 
thing  that  the  Battler  had  heard  since  the  busy 
days  of  September  10,  when  he  had  first  joined 
out  in  this  great  army  of  emancipation.     Then, 


62 


BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 


too,  Chin  always  had  a  full  bag  of  the  makin's 
and  a  trick  smile  and  he  was  rare  sport  for  the 
Battler. 

But  Chin's  pal  bothered  him  a  lot. 

"Where's  ya  catch  this 
here  bird  anyhow,  Wah.?  " 
the  Battler  rambled  on. 
"He  must  be  some  rare 
Chinese  fowl  that  sailed  in 
on  the  big  draft." 

"Me  no  cathum;  he  my 
plal.  Know  what  he  fella 
do.f^  He  come  'long  me. 
Sing,  he  some  boy." 

"Some  boy  is  right.  Chin 
Wah.  Loosen  up  wdth  the 
story.  You  ain't  holdin' 
out  nothin',  are  you.  Chin. 
He  ain't  no  kidnapped 
heathen  maiden  in  disguise  or  nothin'  hke  that 
isheChin.?^" 

Chin  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  then  recross- 
ing  his  legs  related  in  the  best  laundry  English 
just  how  he  came  by  Sing,  and  how  he  entered 


ALLIES  ALL  63 

the  ''Suicide  Club,"  as  the  men  of  the  machine 
gun  battalion  are  wont  to  call  themselves  in 
modest  moments  of  self-appraisal  when  on  Sun- 
day leaves  their  best  girls  breathlessly  pick  up 
the  army  pearls  dropped  casually  from  their  lips. 

''Well,  Sing  he  lun  launlee  up  on  Bundled 
Flifty-fif  street  along  me.  Not  gota  lotta 
monee  but  plenty,  so  when  dlaft  come  my  num- 
ber he  way  up  soon,  but  Sing  he  way  dlon  low. 
Sing  he  hke  my  bludder  and  he  say,  'I  wanta  go 
along  you.' 

"Dion  stleet  nother  Chineeman  he  lun  laundlee 
and  he  gotta  low  number  like  me.  He  no 
wanta  glo,  so  Sing  he  go  that  flella  and  he  say, 
'Me  go  flor  you.'  That  fella  he  say,  'Sure 
Mike,'  and  Sing  he  go  to  blord  along  me  and 
everting  fline." 

"That  guy  was  nuts.  That's  what  I  mean. 
Chin,"  interrupted  the  Battler,  memories  of  his 
valiant  claim  for  exemption  still  green. 

Two  full  minutes  it  took  Chin  to  make  the 
Battler  withdraw  his  accusation  and  then  he 
continued  his  narrative.  Taking  the  physical 
examination  in  the  name  of  the  rival  and  less 


64        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

warlike  competitor,  Sing  Ing  had  passed  and 
been  ordered  to  leave  for  Camp  Upton  October  1. 
With  Chin  he  had  reported  for  duty  promptly 
and  after  repassing  the  physical  examination 
here  had  been  assigned  to  the  Headquarters 
Troop.  Being  of  unknown  fighting  ability  and 
handy  with  the  laundry  iron  and  cook  stove, 
it  had  seemed  to  the  powers  that  be  in  army 
circles  that  Sing  Ing  and  Chin  Wah  would  best 
do  in  this  non -fighting  though  quite  doggy 
branch  of  the  service. 

But  Sing  and  Chin  had  not  been  consulted, 
and  instead  of  visions  of  returning  with  medals 
on  their  chests  and  battle  scars  to  go  swaggering 
about  Chinatown  with  they  could  see  naught 
but  a  peaceful,  almost  household,  future  press- 
ing some  general's  pants  or  running  errands  on 
motorcycles  or  at  the  most  carrying  messages 
to  the  front.  And  Sing  and  Chin  wanted  ser- 
vice, raw  red  service,  where  the  bullets  were  the 
thickest  and  the  battle  roar  the  loudest. 

So  following  a  conference  of  war  they  decided 
to  put  in  a  request  for  transfer,  choosing  the 
rollickinest,   fightenest,   cockiest   outfit   in   the 


ALLIES  ALL  65 

whole  division,  known  even  by  their  own  ad- 
mission as  "the  Suicide  Club,"  and  the  httle 
gods  of  fate  who  pull  the  army  strings  and 
tangle  up  army  red  tape  jerked  a  thread  here 
and  another  there  and  bright  and  early  Tuesday 
morning  Sing  and  Chin,  the  Celestial  twins, 
trekked  with  mattress  and  blankets  from  Head- 
quarters barracks  to  the  barracks  of  Company 
A,  304th  Machine  Gun  Battalion,  Capt.  Alfred 
Roelker,  commanding. 

"Well,  whatcha  think  of  that?  Welcome 
home,  old  kid!"  the  Battler  contributed.  "Say, 
whadja  do  with  your  shirt  washin'  outfit?" 

"Sing  he  sell  laundlee  for  tie  bundled  dlolla." 
Chin  rose,  yawning  and  stretching  his  five  feet 
four.  "We  bly  Libbuly  Bonds.  Say,  when  we 
go  this  here  damma  Germainee?" 

8 — ^FivE  Times  a  Day 

A  CERTAIN  Little  Corporal  at  some  officers' 
mess  in  Moscow  or  Paris  a  century  or  so  ago 
once  dropped  the  pearl  about  an  army  travelling 
on  its  stomach.  And  to-day  the  West  front  is 
proving  this  to  be  quite  literally  true.     But  ten 


66        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

thousand  hard  cooking  Knights  of  the  White 
Apron — and  not  always  so  dudishly  white  at 
that — are  going  to  see  that  Kelly  and  Chin  and 
Sing  and  their  million  pals  have  well  filled, 
comfortable  tummies  to  travel  on. 

And  when  one  of  these  ten  thousand  Knights 
bears  by  chance  the  magic  name  of  Omar  it's 
high  time  we  smote  our  blommin'  lyre  and  sing 
of  hash  and  pork  and  beans  and  army  cooks 
and  sealing  wax  and  kings. 

Ben  Ali  Omar  patted  his  two  and  a  half-dollar 
department  store  prayer  rug  with  an  affection- 
ate and  loving  pat.  "A  fine  rug  she  is,"  Ben 
allowed.  "I  buy  him  two  dollar  haK  and  I 
keep  him  rolled  up  for  the  clean.  Five  times 
a  day  I  roll  him  out  and  pray  on  him  to  Allah. 
Fine  rug,  eh?" 

Ben  Ali  carefully  rolled  up  his  precious 
autumnal  brown  rug  with  the  large  red  roses 
around  the  border  and  tucked  it  under  his  folded 
blanket  pillow.  Ben  AK  was  receiving  in  his 
own  private  apartment  over  the  officers'  quar- 
ters of  the  152d  Depot  Brigade.  And  Ben  Ali 
was  wearing  neither  his  trick  prayer  suit  nor  his 


ALLIES  ALL  67 

white  pants  with  coat  to  match  which  he  sports 
as  cook  of  the  oflScers'  mess.  In  fact,  Ben  Ali 
was  wearing  mostly  an  ancient  and  faded  pair 
of  striped  blue  denim  trousers  and  an  equally 
ancient  quarter  sleeve  undershirt. 

It  being  neither  Ben  Ali's  hour  for  prayer  nor 
chefing,  as  the  Upton  saying  is,  he  rambled  on 
concerning  batter  cakes,  religion,  war,  camels, 
his  native  Morocco,  slave  boys  and  morals.  For 
be  it  known  that  Ben  Ah  Omar  is  as  much  of  a 
philosopher  as  his  famous  old  namesake.  Kid 
Khayyam,  and  also  he  is  so  venerable  himself 
that  his  upper  front  teeth,  tiring  of  their  long 
and  little  appreciated  efforts,  have  dropped  out 
one  by  one. 

"Sure,  I  said  my  prayers  five  times  a  day," 
Ben  Ah  continued.  'Tour  o'clock  by  the  morn- 
ing, 1  o'clock  by  the  dinner,  4  afternoon  and  5, 
then  8  by  the  night.  Each  once  I  wash  the 
hands,  feet,  face,  put  by  the  clean  suit  and  un- 
roll my  rug.  Everything  she  clean  for  the 
prayers." 

Then  Ben  AU's  eighteen  years  residence  in 
New  York  popped  to  the  fore. 


68        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"But  oh,  boy!  she  was  some  tough  by  the  4 
o'clock  by  the  morning.  Look  my  hands! 
Know  what  she  is?  I  don't  any  dish  washer  got 
and  I  wash  the  dish  by  hot,  but  I  wash  the  hands 
by  the  cold  water.  Look  and  you  know  what, 
every  morning  4  o'clock  I  wash  the  hands  and 
feet  in  water  like  the  ice.  Oh,  boy,  she  was 
cold!  And  look  this  suit,  thin  like  the  paper, 
eh?  I  put  him  on  and  get  on  the  rug.  Oh, 
boy!" 

Ben  Ali's  audience  shivered  with  him.  Four 
o'clock  is  a  rough  hour  for  man  or  beast  these 
November  mornings,  and  besides,  Ben  Ali  had 
been  naturalised  these  ten  years  and  more. 
And  Ben  Ali's  lily  white  trick  prayer  pants,  with 
coat  to  match,  once  might  have  served  as  a  pair 
of  summer  pajamas. 

'*Na,  I  don't  go  by  the  war;  I  am  aid  like  a 
grandfar,  but  I  make  good  cook.  Oh,  boy!  I 
go  to  France  with  the  officers  and  when  get  to 
Berlin,  oh,  boy!  When  we  get  by  there  I  get 
ver',  ver'  drunk.  An'  I  don't  get  a  drink  for 
eighteen  years.  But  when  we  get  to  Berlin, 
oh,  boy!" 


ALLIES  ALL 


69 


Ben  All's  ancient  eyes  sparkled  in  anticipation 
of  the  big  victory  drunk  at  Berlin. 

"When  I  was  young  I  was  a — ^what  you  say 
— ^rum  hound.     In  Morocco  I  was.     I  was  raise 
devil  all  time.     I  was  always 
fight,    oh,    boy!     I   get   shot 
here  wonst." 

Ben  Ali  raised  up  and 
turned  around.  Then  he  sat 
down  again. 

"Sure,  I   get   put   out   of 
Morocco.     Then  I  come  over 
here  and  I  save  the  mooney 
and    never    get  no  drunk  or 
raise  the  hell   or    something. 
After  I  been  here  six  year  I  go 
back  to  Morocco  and   buy  a 
farm  for  $800  and  three  camels 
for  forty  dollar  and    get   my 
moother  a  slave   boy  for  six 
dollar.    You  know  what  they  say;  no  more  slave 
bizness.     What   for   kind  of   a  thing  was  that, 
eh.^     My  bruther  fight  for  French  and  was  killed 
two  months  ago.     They  got  the  revolution. 


70        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"But  I  don't  care  French  don't  I?  I  am 
American  and  don't  I  in  the  American  Army  a 
chef,  and  don't  I  go  to  Germany  with  my 
oflScers?  I  get  'em  all  fat  and  nice  and  we  fight 
the  Germany  and  that  crazy  big  fool  that  Kaiser. 
Sure,  I  take  my  prayer  rug  to  Berlin  with  me. 
And  five  times  a  day  I  pray  for  America.  Sure! 
Sure!  An'  if  we  no  ken  wheep  Germany — 
poof!  the  world  she  go!  But  we  fight  him. 
Five  times  a  day  I  pray.  But  oh,  boy!  that 
cold  water  she  hurt  my  poor  hands  at  four  by 
the  morning!  Ain't  I  a  fine  chef  and  should  I 
get  a  dish  wash?  Sure!  To-morrow  my  officers 
go  by  New  York  for  the  Thanksgiving  and  I 
go  too  for  the  dishwash.  Then  my  hands  they 
get  well  and  I  can  wash  in  the  cold  water. 

From  Ben  Ali's  home-made  mantel  an  alarm- 
clock,  lying  face  downward,  tore  off  a  wild 
alarm.  In  one  grab  Ben  Ah  reached  it  and 
shut  off  the  gong.  '"Oh,  boy!  She  is  eight 
o'clock!  Now  for  the  beeg  prayer.  I  wash  the 
hands  and  feet  and  put  on  the  special  close. 
Goo-bye,  mister,  goo-bye." 

Even  before  the  door  slammed  behind  Ben 


ALLIES  ALL  71 

Ali's  visitor,  there  came  the  sound  of  ablutions 
and  sacred  water  rites  being  performed  within. 
Down  the  hall  Capt.  Wilham  H.  Young,  Ben 
Ali's  greatest  admirer  and  booster,  was  standing 
in  his  own  doorway.  "Some  bird,  isn't  he?'* 
the  Captain  suggested. 

"Rather.  Going  to  France  with  you,  too,  he 
says.     Some  bird  is  right." 

Then  seeping  through  the  thin  walls  of  the 
officers'  quarters  came  strange,  weird  sounds 
resembling  something  between  the  wail  of  a  lost 
soul  and  the  cry  of  a  strayed  or  stolen  puppy. 
In  all  Camp  Upton's  30,000  no  such  sound  as 
this  ever  had  been  uttered. 

"That's  Ben  Ali  now,"  Captain  Young  re- 
marked. "That  part's  about  what  the  United 
States  is  going  to  do  to  the  Kaiser,  if  Ben  AU's 
prayer  is  answered.  It's  something  about  broil- 
ing the  gent." 

Ben  Ali  kept  right  on.  He  certainly  had  a 
lot  on  his  chest  when  it  came  to  being  a  Kaiser 
hater.  The  visitor  turned  to  go.  It  was  a  most 
impressive  place,  this  outfit.  And  Kaiser  hat- 
ing isn't  any  tight  society  and  should  have  a 


n        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

large  membership,  but  Ben  Ali,  from  Morocco, 
was  setting  the  pace. 

"Guess  that  goes  for  me,  too,  what  Ben's 
saying  about  broiHng  the  gent,"  he  said,  softly 
closing  the  door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 
THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME 

1 — ^The  Little  Old  Lady  In  The  Flivver 

THIS  is  going  to  be  a  piece  about  the 
little  old  lady  in  the  flivver.  There's 
been  story  after  story  written  about  the 
selected  men,  and  a  certain  crap  shooting,  piano 
playing  negro  battahon  on  guard  here,  and  the 
13,000  workmen  who  are  bringing  up  this  great 
city  by  hand,  and  even  about  the  big  oJBScers 
with  stars  on  their  shoulder  straps  who  haunt 
headquarters  on  the  hill,  but  this  is  the  first  time 
that  the  little  old  lady  in  the  flivver  has  broken 
into  print. 

It  was  quite  a  trip  out  here  from  where  she 
started  from,  and  the  flivver  met  a  number  of 
new  trick  bounces  and  jolts  and  jars,  but  roads 
and  bumps  and  drivers  are  all  the  same  to  un- 
temperamentgll  Henry  the  1915th.  Ma  and  Pa 
and  Sis  and  the  Kid  got  an  early  start  and  it 

f\  75 


76        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

was  about  eleven  o'clock  this  morning  when 
they  jogged  over  the  railroad  track  and  passed 
by  the  big  darkey  soldier  with  a  rifle  over  his 
shoulder  doing  his  bit  toward  making  the  world 
safe  for  democracy  by  walking  guard  at  the 
official  camp  entrance.  Being  Sunday  Ma  and 
Pa  and  Sis  and  the  Edd  were  not  stopped  or 
questioned. 

In  fact  they  were  not  stopped  or  questioned 
anywhere,  but  oh,  what  a  great  job  of  stopping 
and  questioning  they  themselves  did! 

Pa  first  brought  the  boat  to  a  stop  in  front  of 
one  of  the  grinning,  happy  guards,  and  quite 
casually  asked  where  the  boys  from  New  York 
city  could  be  found. 

"Follow  dis  yare  road,  boss,"  the  chocolate 
doughboy  answered,  pointing  with  his  rifle  down 
the  dusty,  crowded  highway  that  has  been 
dubbed  "Broadway."  "Den  you  turn  to  youh 
right  and  dar  it  be."  Pop  started  to  throw 
Henry  into  gear,  or  whatever  it  is  you  do  to 
him,  when  Ma  leaned  out  of  the  back  seat,  and 
with  an  old-fashioned  smile  like  all  mothers  used 
to  make,  started  in  on  this  darkey  boy. 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME 


77 


"It's  George  Brodine  we're  looking  for.  You 
know;  George  came  down  last  Monday  with  the 
other  boys  and  we've  come  out  to  see  him  and 
see  how  he's  getting  along,  and  if  you  could  tell 
us  where  to  find  him, 
why  we'd  just  be  ever 
so  much  obliged." 

"Well,  mam,  I  don' 
know  only  dat " 

"Well,  would  any 
of  these  men  over 
there  know?" 

"No,  mam,  them 
'er  boys  is  workmen, 
jes  workmen.  Dey 
don't  know  where 
George  is.  If  I 
tell  you,  but  all  I 
down  dis  yere  road 
askin'." 

Down  the  road  they  drove  and  at  the  corner 
where  Broadway  turns  into  Eightieth  Street, 
Ma  had  Pop  stop  in  front  of  a  mounted,  gray 
uniformed  camp  poUceman. 


knowed     I 
kin  say    is, 
and    keep 


shore  would 
jes  drive  on 
askin',    keep 


78        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Same  question  from  Pop.  Same  answer  from 
the  camp  cop. 

Same  anxious  leaning  out  of  the  back  seat, 
same  wonderful  smile  and  then  the  same  ques- 
tion about  George.  But  all  that  the  mounted 
policeman  could  do  was  to  send  the  little  old 
lady  and  Sis  and  Pa  and  the  jfliwer  on  down 
the  road  to  the  big  group  of  yellow  pine  barracks 
spread  out  over  a  hundred  acres  or  more. 

Other  stops — other  questions  by  Pa,  and 
always  Ma's  back  seat  smile  and  eager  insis- 
tency. Finally  they  found  George's  old  bar- 
racks and  Ma  was  sure  she  would  see  her  soldier 
boy  now,  but  George  had  been  moved  "over 
there  some  place  in  the  next  street." 

So  ancient  Henry  was  cranked  up  again  and 
bounced  and  jiggled  over  "some  place  in  the 
next  street." 

And  sure,  the  young  Plattsburger  who  fell  in 
with  Ma  over  there  was  pie  for  Ma.  With  three 
of  those  wonderful  smiles  she  put  that  kid 
Lieutenant  in  her  pocket  and  made  him  her 
slave  for  life.  And  the  Lieutenant  found  George. 
He  dug  around  in  three  or  four  barracks,  pleaded 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  79 

with  an  officer  or  two  and  finally  came  out  with 
the  young  hero. 

And  if  you  don't  think  George  looked  the 
part  in  his  shiny  new  uniform  that  he  had  just 
finished  putting  on  for  the  first  time — well,  if 
you  don't  believe  that  George  is  about  the  nifti- 
est, straightest,  cleanest  cut  and  most  prom- 
ising in  all  Camp  Upton — ^well,  just  ask  Ma. 

She  almost  fell  out  of  the  car  getting  to  George 
and  after  she  had  finished  her  close  up  work  she 
held  George  off  and  looked  him  over,  army  hat, 
army  blouse,  army  breeches,  army  leggins, 
and . 

"Why,  George!  Where  are  your  new  shoes? 
Do  your  army  shoes  hurt  you?  If  they  do  you 
must  take  them  right  back  and  get  a  larger  pair." 

And  George  had  to  explain  that  the  army 
shoes  had  not  been  issued  yet  and  that  in  a  day 
or  two  they  would  be  given  out  with  the  shirts. 

Anyhow  it  was  a  great  day  for  Ma,  what  with 
going  through  the  barracks  and  listening  to  her 
young  hero  tell  about  what  a  wonderful  place 
the  camp  was  and  how  he  was  flourishing  on 
army  grub  and  then  seeing  for  her  owti  eyes  how 


80        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

straight  he  was  standing,  and  what  a  clean  glow 
he  had  about  his  skin  and  how  fine  the  officers 
looked  and  everything.  Everywhere  around 
the  barracks  boys  were  singing  and  laughing 
and  playing  and  having  the  times  of  their  city 
narrowed  lives.  Youth  was  gathered  here,  and 
Ma  knew  that  youth  and  outdoors  make  a 
great  pair. 

Then  George  ran  upstairs  to  his  open  boudoir 
and  brought  down  his  entire  uniform  issue  that 
he  had  received  only  an  hour  or  two  before.  Ma 
felt  of  the  underwear  and  thought  it  would  be  a 
fine  weight  for  the  fall  and  passed  on  the  gray 
all  wool  socks  and  the  heavy  breeches  and  hoped 
that  he'd  soon  get  his  O.  D.  shirt  and  shoes — 
and  just  naturally  satisfied  herseK. 

Even  the  French  chefs,  who  are  cooking  magic 
with  their  37.49  cents  a  day  rations  allowance, 
helped  to  boost  the  game  along.  One  led  Ma 
right  back  to  the  icebox  and  showed  her  great 
ribs  of  beef  and  gigantic  pans  of  hash — ^army 
hash — ^made  from  fresh  meat  and  wonderful  to 
look  upon.  Then  he  told  her  that  at  noon  to-day 
her  proud  son  had  eaten  a  mere  double  or  triple 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  81 

helping  of  roast  beef,  potatoes,  macaroni,  bread, 
bread  pudding  and  coffee.  And  Ma  just  smiled 
and  smiled  and  pretty  soon  started  beaming. 

About  4  o'clock  Pa  cranked  up  the  flivver  and 
made  Ma  get  in,  and  shook  hands  with  George, 
and  then  in  ten  minutes  Ma  leaned  out  and 
kissed  George  good-by,  and  Pop  threw  Henry 
into  gear  or  whatever  you  do  in  such  cases. 
Ma  didn't  have  much  to  say  for  quite  a  while, 
and  then  she  leaned  forward,  tapped  Pop  on 
the  back  with  her  forefinger,  and  said  right 
solemnly:  "Father,  aren't  you  glad  Georgie  is 
out  here  after  all.^  My!  My!  wasn't  you 
proud?" 

And  if  you'll  multiply  Ma  by  3,000  or  5,000, 
or  something  like  that,  you  can  get  some  little 
idea  of  what  the  first  Sunday  meant  to  an  army 
post  that  is  not  only  melting  all  races  of  men  to 
Americans,  but  welding  a  great  body  of  un- 
trained civihans  into  a  fighting  army. 

And  maybe  those  3,000  or  5,000  Mas  weren't 
proud,  to  say  nothing  of  Pas  and  Sisses  and  the 
Kids!       . 


82        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

2 — George  Tries  a  Sunday  at  Home 

The  little  old  lady  and  Pa  and  Sis  brought 
George  back  to  camp  late  this  afternoon  in  the 
family  flivver.  Most  of  George's  1,500  rookie 
pals  returned  from  their  first  over  Sunday  leave 
of  absence  in  the  special  camp  train,  but  Ma 
told  Pa  yesterday  that  if  it  didn't  rain  they'd 
take  George  back  in  the  car. 

It  was  a  great  little  vacation  George  had  at 
that.  In  the  first  place  he  wore  his  brand  new 
olive  drab  uniform,  and  then  he  had  been  spend- 
ing no  less  than  eight  out  of  each  twenty -four 
hours  the  past  week  thinking  of  Ma's  Sunday 
dinners.  Ma's  Sunday  dinners,  by  the  way,  are 
institutions,  and  are  exactly  180  degrees  due 
west  on  the  culinary  chart  from  army  mess. 

Then  George  had  been  dreaming  of  late  about 
Ma's  lily  white  sheets  and  the  Uttle  old  mattress 
that  was  a  mattress,  not  to  mention  lying  in 
bed  of  a  Sunday  morning  until  the  cock  got 
tired  of  crowing,  or  whatever  is  the  city  equiva- 
lent to  the  well  known  cock  crowing. 

And  then  there  was  Saturday  night's  picture 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  83 

show  and  a  dance  with  the  girl  who  is  the  best 
httle  picture  shark  and  fox  trotter  in  all  upper 
Manhattan.  Talk  about  camp  hfe  when  you 
got  a  certain  party  like  that  fixing  her  hair  for 
you  every  Saturday  and  Sunday  night — ^wow! 
Just  ask  George  or  any  of  the  other  1,500  who 
went  in  town  to  see  'em  yesterday  for  the  first 
time  in  two  whole  weeks. 

"Good-by,  camp!"  George  and  the  1,500  said 
aloud  or  mentally  when  the  special  pulled 
Manhattanward  at  1  o'clock  yesterday  after- 
noon. 

"No  bad  luck,  but  I  hope  you  burn  so  we 
won't  never  have  to  come  back." 

Talk  about  a  happy  ride — ^now,  maybe  that 
one  yesterday  afternoon  wasn't  a  joy  jaunt. 
The  elderly  flat  wheels  on  the  elderly  track  kept 
singing  a  song  that  had  but  a  single  line — 
*'Home,  home,  home!"  Looking  back  through 
car  windows  the  busy,  dusty,  half  mad  camp 
seemed  almost  like  the  final  chapter  in  a  bad 
dream.  But  at  that  there  was  something  about 
the  sight  and  the  feel  of  the  uniforms  that 
George  and  his  pals  wore  that  made  them  recol- 


84        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

lect  that  instead  of  beginning  the  final  chapter 
it  was  rather  the  opening  chapter,  and  maybe 
it  wasn't  going  to  be  such  a  terribly  bad  dream 
after  all. 

And  then  came  the  first  whiff  of  Queens  and 
the  dive  imder  the  river,  and  when  they  came 
up  for  air  they  were  right  in  old  Manhattan  with 
the  racket  and  the  rumble  and  the  crush  and  the 
swirl  of  the  city  that  every  mother's  son  had 
been  longing  for  these  two  weeks.  Same  old 
wonderful,  mad,  tramping,  ungentlemanly,  buzz- 
ing subway  with  the  very  same  air  that  had  been 
there  since  George  had  first  ridden  through  it 
the  second  day  it  was  opened. 

They  came  home,  and  Ma  and  Pa  and  the 
kids  all  admiring  him  and  saying  how  much 
straighter  he  was  and  how  broad  he  looked  in 
his  new  suit. 

"You  don't  call  it  a  suit,  Ma,"  George 
corrected.  "It's  a  uniform — an  O.  D.  uni- 
form." 

"What's  O.  D.,  George.?"  the  kid  brother 
had  to  oar  in  just  thc^  and  spill  the  army  beans 
all  over  the  floor. 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  85 

"It's  an  army  term.  I  guess  it  means  'On 
Deck'  or  something  like,"  George  ventured; 
and  then  outflanked  the  attack  by  demanding 
food — "the  food" — in  large  quantities. 

But  all  in  all  no  returning  heroes  from  the 
bloody  wars  ever  received  a  greater  welcome 
than  George  and  his  1,500  pals. 

Dinner  Saturday  night  was  Ma's  very  very 
best,  spiced  by  George's  tales  of  army  life — ^what 
the  Captain  said  and  what  the  regular  army 
sergeant  said  and  then  what  Rookie  George 
said.  And  that  night  about  7:30  George  and  all 
his  pals  started  out  with  the  "O.  D."  uniforms 
still  on  in  order  to  give  the  little  trick  dancer  a 
real  treat.  And  they  sure  did,  and  a  fine  time 
was  had  by  all. 

But,  this  morning,  gol  darn  it,  do  you  know, 
George  woke  up  about  6  o'clock  and  kept  won- 
dering what  the  gang  back  in  camp  was  doing? 
Let's  see — ^that  funny  boy  from  the  East  Side 
would  be  pulling  a  new  and  regular  joke  about 
this  time  and  repartee  of  a  virile  and  man  sized 
type  would  be  popping  like  a  Lewis  machine 
gun.    There  was  a  lot  of  fun  in  the  barracks,  no 


86        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DKAPT 

matter  if  this  bed  was  so  soft  it  was  almost  un- 
comfortable. 

Ma  let  him  try  to  sleep,  but  it  didn't  do  much 
good,  and  the  morning  was  kind  of  slow  for 
George.  Out  at  camp  the  fellows  would  have 
been  kidding  each  other  and  having  a  lot  of  fun 
spoofing  the  cook  or  that  Englishman  who  said 
he  had  a  Victoria  Cross  or  crabbing  the  mess. 

The  dinner,  though  was  certainly  something 
to  remember  as  long  as  army  hash  is  popular 
with  army  cooks.  But  along  about  2  o'clock 
George  began  to  get  a  little  worried  and  finally 
Pop  cranked  up  the  old  boat  and  Ma  climbed 
in  and  Sis  hopped  in  and  George  jumped  in  and 
Pop  crawled  in  and  with  Ma  beaming  like  1,500 
other  mothers  were  beaming  this  day  the 
start  was  made  for  the  camp. 

Ma  was  a  little  worried  because  George  had 
put  on  his  army  woollen  underwear  this  early 
in  the  fall  when  she  never  had  him  change  be- 
fore until  about  the  middle  of  October.  But 
she  did  think  the  socks  were  fine  and  the  uni- 
form was  made  of  right  nice  woollen  cloth  too. 
Then  she  had  to  tell  him  about  a  dozen  times 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  87 

to  be  very  careful  and  not  to  catch  any  bad 
colds. 

Well,  for  all  that  it  was  a  right  nice  drive  out 
here  from  the  city;  but  when  George  got  his 
first  whiff  of  the  big  army  post  and  his  eye 
caught  the  first  glimpse  of  the  boys  in  OKve  drab 
and  the  old  thrill  struck  him  harder  now  than 
it  had  ever  done  before,  and  when  he  passed  a 
fellow  from  his  barracks  that  he  knew  who  gave 
him  the  high  sign  and  threw  out  "Hi,  George!" 
— ^well,  George  just  didn't  have  the  nerve  to  let 
Ma  know  exactly  how  he  felt. 

And  when  the  family  boat  threw  out  an  an- 
chor in  front  of  his  barracks  and  George  chmbed 
out  and  Ma  handed  him  a  box  of  cake  and 
cookies  and  a  lot  of  home  made  candy  and  stuff 
and  Pop  allowed  they'd  have  to  hurry  back  be- 
fore it  got  dark  and  George  kissed  Ma  and  Sis 
good-by  and  shook  hands  with  Pop  and  the 
flivver  turned  around  and  rattled  back  toward 
town  George  tried  not  to  be  glad  and  to  show 
that  the  army  had  stung  him,  but  it  wasn't  any 
use. 

"Hey,  English!"    he  sung  out  with  a  whoop. 


88        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

''come  on  in  and  I'll  give  you  some  eats.    Say, 
Bo,  this  is  some  little  joint  after  all,  ain't  she!" 


3 — ^The  Little  Old  Lady  Again 

George  had  to  stay  in  camp  this  Sunday  be- 
cause the  first  payroll  muster  in  all  the  history 
of  the  National  Army  came  off  this  morning 
and  George,  figuring  that  every  day's  dollar  pay 
would  buy  ten  whole  bricks  of  the  ice  cream 
over  at  the  post  exchange,  decided  he  would 
rather  have  the  $20  than  another  of  Ma's  Sun- 
day dinners  back  in  Manhattan.  So  Pa  drove 
Ma  and  the  family  out  again  in  the  old  flivver 
and  brought  George  a  lot  of  home-made  candy 
and  a  chocolate  cake. 

The  family  flivver  has  done  some  plain  and 
fancy  flivvering  in  its  day,  cavorting  down  Fifth 
Avenue  along  about  4  o'clock  in  the  evening 
and  rattling  up  Broadway  an  hour  later,  but 
never  have  its  faithful  old  brakes  been  put  to 
more  desperate  and  severe  test  than  right  in 
this  camp  to-day.  Every  inch  of  all  the  mud, 
oil  and  macadamized  roads  that  it  grabbed  was 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  89 

disputed  by  a  score  of  other  cars,  small,  medium, 
and  large  size.  Early  in  the  start  and  stop  drive 
from  the  camp  entrance  up  to  George's  barracks 
Pa  discovered  that  many  of  the  streets  were  kept 
exclusively  for  camp  business  and  that  the  pert 
young  olive  drab-clad  soldiers  with  M.  P. — ■ 
Military  Police — on  their  arm  bands  were 
former  members  of  the  well  known  "Finest"  of 
New  York. 

But  Pa  did  finally  steer  the  boat  straight  up 
Fourth  Street  and  Second  Avenue,  where  Com- 
pany B,  302d  Engineers,  is  permanently  located, 
and,  sure  enough,  George  was  hanging  around 
waiting  for  the  folks  to  show  up.  And  George 
had  Ma  get  out  and  meet  Capt.  Frederick  S. 
Greene,  his  company  commander,  and,  of  course, 
the  Captain  was  pie  for  Ma,  just  like  every  one 
else  is.  It  all  ended  up  by  the  Captain  himself 
taking  Ma  all  around  and  showing  her  just  what 
George  and  the  other  boys  had  done  toward 
making  Company  B's  barracks  home.  In  front 
of  the  big  building  ran  a  straight,  wide  gravel 
walk  that  led  up  to  the  big  centre  door  and 
th^    company    street   in  front,  was    cleared  of 


90        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

stumps  and  raked  off  and  patted  down  as  clean 
and  smooth  as  a  billiard  table. 

"Where  did  you  get  all  that  fine  gravel,  Cap- 
tain? there's  not  another  barracks  in  the  whole 
camp  has  any  such  walk  as  that,"  Ma  asked. 

"Santa  Claus  brought  it  to  us,"  bowed  the 
engineer  author  soldier,  "Santa  Claus  and  my 
first  sergeant.  That  is,  I  think  it  must  have 
been  Santa  Claus,  because  this  morning  when  I 
was  telling  my  sergeant  that  we  should  have  this 
gravel  walk  bordered  with  bricks  he  told  me  that 
Santa  Claus  would  see  that  700  bricks  would  be 
presented  to  the  company  this  week." 

Ma  had  a  big  time  over  that,  but  when  the 
Captain  told  her  about  a  real  hero  in  some 
engineering  company  who  is  shy  his  trigger 
finger  Ma  sniffled  a  bit,  and  demanded  to  know 
how  anybody  could  dare  think  this  National 
Army  did  not  have  as  deep  and  true  patriotism 
as  any  body  of  men  in  the  world.  A  certain  Cap- 
tain, it  seems,  found  that  while  standing  at 
attention  one  of  his  men  always  kept  his  right 
hand  slightly  concealed  behind  his  leg.  Order- 
ing him  to  take  the  real  position  of  a  soldier  the 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  91 

Captain  discovered  that  the  index  finger  of  his 
right  hand  had  been  amputated  at  the  knuckle. 

''What  are  you  doing  in  the  army?"  the  Cap- 
tain demanded.  "Don't  you  know  you  can't 
be  a  soldier  without  your  trigger  finger.  You 
may  have  fooled  the  examining  surgeons,  but 
I'll  have  to  report  your  condition." 

"Don't,  Captain,  please  don't.  I  can  shoot 
with  my  second  finger,  and  then  I'm  a  fine  trap 
drummer  and  I  can  handle  sticks  even  better 
without  my  first  finger  than  I  could  with  it. 
Please  let  me  stay.  Captain." 

So  it  happened  that  Company  B  is  getting  up 
an  orchestra,  and  they're  going  to  march  to  a 
drum  until  the  men  catch  the  trick  of  keeping 
step.  And  the  Captain  has  already  ordered  two 
new  drum-heads  for  his  three-fingered  drum- 
mer's headless  drums. 

Well,  Ma  ate  that  story,  and  when  the  Cap- 
tain told  her  about  Vic  Abkarian,  who  studied 
engineering  at  Columbia  University  and  after 
serving  two  weeks  in  his  company  had  to  be 
sent  back  home  on  account  of  a  bad  heart,  Ma 
a  tough  time  keeping  within  self-respecting 


92        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

sniffles.  Vic,  the  Captain  went  on,  was  a  strap- 
ping six  footer  and  wild  about  the  army  hfe, 
and  when  he  was  finally  told  that  he  wouldn't 
quite  do  he  simply  broke  down  and  showed  that 
he  was  a  mighty  poor  loser  where  the  army  was 
concerned. 

But  pay  day  chatter  was  what  Ma  heard 
most  of  the  time  she  was  puttering  about  Com- 
pany B's  barracks.  No  ghost,  she  soon  dis- 
covered, was  ever  welcomed  with  such  joy  as 
this  one  will  be,  who  is  to  bring  real  hard  old 
cash  to  the  thousands  of  soldier  lads  within  the 
next  few  days — at  least  before  the  5th.  Ex- 
cepting the  last  quota,  which  has  been  arriving 
the  last  three  days,  all  the  rookies  will  get  their 
dollar  a  day  for  the  time  since  they  reported  to 
their  local  boards  for  entrainment  for  the  camp. 
So  George  will  draw  $20  to  tuck  away  in  his 
gray  army  sock. 

It  was  after  four  when  Pa  cranked  up  the  old 
bird  and  Ma  had  given  her  final  direction  about 
how  George  must  keep  his  feet  dry  when  it's 
so  rainy  and  muddy  and  Pa  was  able  to  throw 
in  a  little  gas  and  start  sailing  home. 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  93 

It  wasn't  until  they  had  passed  the  Y.  W. 
C.  A.  hostess'  tent  that  Ma  said  a  word,  and 
then  she  leaned  forward  and  tapped  Pa  on  the 
back. 

"Pa,  don't  you  wish  every  mother  whose  boy 
is  in  a  camp  like  this  could  ride  out  with  us 
some  Sunday  and  see  how  Uncle  Sam  and  Cap- 
tain Greene  and  everybody  out  here  is  looking 
after  our  boys  for  us?" 

And  although  Pa  didn't  see  very  well  how 
the  faithful  old  flivver  could  stand  the  strain 
he  allowed  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing. 

4 — ^Ma  Makes  Her  Farewell  Tour 

The  Uttle  old  lady  came  out  to  camp  again 
to-day  for  the  first  time  in  several  weeks. 
Although  a  bitter  winter  wind  blew  up  and 
down  and  across  Long  Island  it  couldn't  keep 
Ma  from  wanting  to  make  this  final  trip  to  see 
George  before  the  old  vehicle  was  put  away  for 
the  winter. 

So  she  had  Pa  nail  on  all  the  side  curtains 
and  fix  up  a  foot  warmer  and  bring  out  enough 
robes  and  blankets  to  start  a  north  pole  explora- 


94        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

tion,  and  then  with  Pa  at  the  helm  and  the  Kid 
alongside,  and  with  herself  and  Sis  all  tucked 
in  the  back  seat,  the  great  start  was  made. 
Two  hours  and  a  half  later  they  pulled  up  in 
front  of  George's  barracks  and  clacked  the  horn, 
and  George  came  bounding  out 
through  the  double  doors. 

Well,  after  the  first  meeting 
stuff  was  over  George  led  Ma  into 
the  warm,  comfortable  barracks, 
and  sat  her  down  slam  up  against 
one  of  the  great,  circular  heating 
stoves  in  the  recreation  room  and 
prepared  to  answer  as  many  as 
possible  of  Ma's  rapid-fire  ques- 
tions. And  they  came  pretty  much  in  form, 
unless  the  surprise  that  the  company's  recrea- 
tion room  caused  kept  the  average  down  a  bit. 

Ma  just  about  beat  herself  at  her  o^\^l  game 
when  she  looked  over  this  big  amusement  room 
— exactly  one-half  of  a  whole  first  floor — ^and 
saw  what  was  being  done  to  make  George  and 
his  30,000  pals  happy. 

"And  a  piano — ^now  isn't  that  fine?"  she  con- 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  95 

tlnued,  haM  way  through  her  eulogy.  "And, 
goodness  me,  if  there  isn't  a  phonograph — ^two 
of  them.  Well,  well,  and  a  librar^^!  Pa,  there 
must  be  300  or  400  books  there.  And  just  look 
at  the  writing  and  reading  tables.  And  did  you 
notice  the  magazines? 

"Two  big  tables — ^well,  now  I  suppose  the 
boys  play  pool  on  them,  don't  they,  George? 
Well,  I  guess  there  can't  be  any  harm  in  boys 
as  old  as  they  are  playing  a  little  game  when 
they  are  tired.  And  look  at  the  curtains  over 
the  windows  and  the  fancy  lights — and  mercy, 
it's  all  tinted  like  a  hotel  bedroom.  Isn't  this 
fine?  My,  my,  I  never  supposed  boys  could 
make  themselves  so  comfortable." 

And  after  Ma  had  used  up  about  700  pounds 
of  marvel  at  the  company  recreation  room  and 
had  been  almost  tickled  to  death  when  told  that 
every  company  in  the  great  camp  had  just  some 
such  amusement  place  of  its  own,  George  got 
permission  from  his  Top  Sergeant  to  take  her 
upstairs,  where  the  men  sleep.  And  there  she 
saw  long,  straight  rows  of  iron  cots,  piled  high 
wilJi  army  blankets  and  all  topped  with  a  bril- 


96        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

liantly  coloured  old  fashioned — ^but,  oh,  wow — 
warm  comforter.  This  last  caught  Ma's  eye 
and  she  had  to  examine  the  one  on  George's 
bed  and  then  feel  the  three  hesLvy  wool  "O.  D." 
blankets,  and  completely  satisfy  herself  that 
there  was  plenty. 

And  then  she  had  George  pull  out  his  kit  box 
from  under  his  bed  and  make  a  thorough  inspec- 
tion of  the  things  that  Uncle  Sam  had  given 
him  to  keep  him  warm  and  comfortable  and 
happy.  When  she  came  to  two  pairs  of  gray 
army  socks  and  discovered  holes  in  the  toes  of 
each  she  swished  them  in  one  move  under  her 
coat.  And  poor  George  had  to  demand  them 
back  and  only  won  them  after  a  lengthy  ex- 
planation of  how  at  company  inspection  every 
last  article  of  equipment  must  be  accounted  for. 

"Well,  I  shall  ask  the  Captain  if  it  isn't  pos- 
sible even  in  war  time  for  a  mother  to  darn  her 
son's  socks,"  she  at  first  pronounced.  But 
George's  pleas  prevailed,  and  so  finally  Ma 
weakened  and  gave  back  the  semi-hosiery. 

Then,  with  noon  creeping  on.  Ma  and  George 
and  the  whole  family  dumped  into  Henry,  the 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  97 

1915th,  and  George  at  the  tiller  drove  all  about 
the  great,  sprawling,  fascinating  camp  that  has 
just  begun  to  find  itself.  Since  Ma's  last  visit 
hundreds  of  the  gawky,  pine  buildings  had 
sprung  up  and  a  whole  section  had  fairly  risen 
from  the  scrub  underbrush. 

And  over  in  one  far  corner  of  the  big  reser- 
vation they  found  the  hospital  unit,  and  Ma 
almost  fell  out  of  the  car  in  admiring  the  won- 
derful group  of  buildings,  with  their  1,200  cots 
and  their  splendid  surgical  outfit,  all  ready  and 
w^aiting  for  anything  that  might  happen.  And 
for  the  first  time  this  outdoor  university  for 
young  men  took  shape  for  her  and  welded  itself 
together  and  co-ordinated  its  far  flung  parts. 

Then  George  drove  out  to  the  great  trench 
system,  with  its  400-yard  battle  front,  and 
pointed  out  the  bombing  field  and  the  bayonet 
course  and  the  score  and  one  special  facilities 
to  train  these  young  men. 

"Don't  all  the  soldier  boys  we  pass  look 
strong  and  rugged — ^haven't  you  noticed  that, 
Pa.'^"  she  asked,  and  then,  before  Pa  had  a 
chance  to  answer,  she  went  right  on:  "If  the 


98        BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

rest  of  the  30,000  mothers  in  New  York  could 
only  come  down  here  and  see  how  their  boys 
are  being  cared  for  and  looked  after  and  how 
much  this  outdoor  life  is  doing  for  them,  well, 
they'd  be  glad  and  proud  that  their  boys  were 
here.  Just  look  what  these  three  months  here 
have  done  for  our  George." 

But  before  George  could  even  protest  he  had 
to  bring  old  Henry  to  a  stop  and  hunt  around 
with  cold  fingers  for  the  combination  of  the  side 
curtains.  And  it  was  all  forgotten  by  the  time 
the  family  had  trailed  into  the  brand  new,  fine 
and  friendly  Hostess  House  for  the  selected  men 
and  their  visitors. 

"George,  why  didn't  you  write  me  something 
about  this  lovely  place?"  Ma  demanded,  when 
she  had  given  it  a  very  hasty  once  over.  "Why, 
this  is  the  finest  thing  about  the  camp,  and  the 
Y.  W.  C.  A.  ladies  who  built  it  ought  to  be 
thanked  by  every  soldier  here.  Just  think  of 
how  nice  it  is  to  have  a  place  where  visitors  can 
drop  in  and  get  lunch  and  meet  their  friends 
and  everything.     My,  my ! " 

Then  came  luncheon  in  the  Hostess  House,  and 


THE  FOLKS  FROM  HOME  99 

then  a  long  family  chat,  and  along  about  2:30 
o'clock  Pa  commenced  to  get  nervous  about 
starting  for  home,  and  by  keeping  right  after 
Ma  he  got  her  in  the  notion  by  3  p.m.  So  pretty 
soon  they  all  piled  into  Henry  again. 

"Just  one  thing  more,  George,"  Ma  slipped 
in  before  the  last  curtain  button  was  fixed,  "are 
they  going  to  let  you  boys  come  home  for 
Christmas.^" 

"Are  they?"  George  repeated.  "Are  they.^ 
Say,  75  per  cent,  of  us  are  leaving  here  Satur- 
day morning  and  stay  until  Wednesday  follow- 
ing Christmas.  And  New  Year's  they're  going 
to  repeat.  Are  they  going  to  let  us  home 
Christmas.^  Say,  Ma,  you'd  better  get  an  extra 
big  turkey,  that's  what  you'd  better  do." 

And  Ma  kind  of  smiled  for  the  first  part  of 
her  answer.  "The  biggest  turkey  we  can  buy — 
Georgie — the  very  biggest." 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
CABBAGES  AND  KINGS— AND  COOKS 


)     »,      >      >     3 
I         >         )      J 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
CABBAGES  AND  KINGS— AND  COOKS 

1 — ".  .  .  AND  THE  Beards  Neatly  Trimmed" 

U.  S.  A.  Field.  Service  Reg.  Par.  286 

ISADORE  BEDNASS,  formerly  of  19  Suf- 
folk street,  Manhattan,  but  at  present  of 
Company  G,  SOSth  Infantry,  U.  S.  Army 
of  Freedom,  sat  on  the  leeward  side  of  bar- 
racks P  13  and  stroked  his  beard  with  long  and 
meditative  strokes.  And  it  was 
some  beard.  It  was  in  fact  a  great 
beard — long,  fuzzy  and  innocent 
of  all  tonsorial  attacks — and  what's 
more  it  was  the  only  beard  in  the 
whole  Division. 

Many  things  were  in   Isadore's 
mind.     First     he     was    33    years 
old,  and  although  he  could  speak 
four  languages  none  of  them  happened  by  any 
chance  to  be  Enghsh,  or  even  East  Side  Man- 

103 


//lp4':;;.;BLQWN;'IN''^      THE  DRAFT 

hattanese.  This  last  accounted  for  the  fact  that 
though  two  years  over  draft  age  he  was  entered 
on  Uncle  Sam's  books  as  a  first  class  fighting 
man.  The  mistake  had  been  made  five  years 
ago,  when  in  taking  out  his  first  papers  he  had 
signed  himself  unwittingly  as  25  instead  of 
28. 

But  for  all  that  he  didn't  mind  being  a  soldier. 
Was  it  not  well  to  have  a  fine  uniform  furnished 
by  a  great  paternal  Government?  Was  it  not 
well  for  an  operator  who  had  been  used  to  work- 
ing fourteen  hours  a  day  on  cheap  ladies'  wear 
to  be  out  in  the  big  open  air  and  play  and 
think  and  stroke  his  beard? 

Then  there  was  the  question  of  food.  It  had 
taken  a  long  time  to  settle  this  eating  prob- 
lem. In  the  first  place  Isadore  was  an  Orthodox 
Jew  and  as  such  could  eat  nothing  but  kosher 
killed  and  kosher  cooked  food. 

"But  surely  the  rabbi  would  not  object  when 
you  are  in  the  army  and  have  no  other  food  ex- 
cept what  is  given  you,"  an  acquaintance  had 
argued  to  him  in  Yiddish  only  a  day  or  two  be- 
fore.   "All  religions  make  exceptions  in  time  of 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     1D.5 

war.  Catholics  may  eat  meat  on  Friday,  and 
even  I  eat  pork." 

*' You  are  not  a  religious  Jew,"  Isadore  argued 
back,  "and  even  if  the  rabbi  should  tell  me  to 
eat  Christian  food  I  would  not  do  it.  Is  not  the 
Jewish  law  older  than  any  rabbi?  And  the  old 
Jewish  law  says  nothing  of  war  time.  I  shall 
eat  only  my  sardines  and  bread." 

He  decided  that  to-night  he  must  lay  in  an- 
other supply  of  the  boxes  of  sardines  that  he 
bought  at  the  construction  company's  store. 
This  was  not  much  to  eat,  but  the  army  bread 
was  heavy  and  wholesome  and  after  all  his  years 
bending  over  his  machine  in  the  Rivington  street 
sweat  shop  Isadore  found  now  that  even  plain 
bread  and  sardines  were  building  him  physically 
and  making  him  better  than  he  had  been  in  years. 

Then,  too,  he  always  would  have  his  beard. 
Never  since  the  day  the  first  bit  of  adolescent 
fuz  had  peeped  out  until  it  had  attained  its 
present  wild  and  untamed  abundance  had  bar- 
ber's scissors  ever  marred  its  corners.  Nature 
had  been  trusted  to  the  fullest  and  nature  had 
done  her  worst. 


106    .BLOWN,  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

AH  the  while  back  in  the  orderly  room  of  the 
barracks  none  other  than  Capt.  Philip  Mills, 
Harvard  '15,  Harvard  football  team  '12,  '13  and 
'14,  American  ambulance  at  Verdim  '15  and  '16, 
Plattsburg  '17,  rubbed  reflectively  on  clean,  close 
shaven  cheeks. 

"I'll  be  jimmied  if  I  know  what  to  do,"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  his  old  top  sergeant,  "It 
does  not  seem  reasonable  that  a  beard  should 
run  wild  like  that,  but  I'm  not  exactly  sure 
what  to  do." 

"Well,  Captain,  I  know  that  down  on  the 
border  last  year  the  doughboys  wore  imperials, 
but  a  retiring,  stay  at  home  httle  imperial  is  a 
heap  different  from  a  wide  spreading  unabashed 
brush  heap.  Still,  take  the  French  poilus — ^they 
wear  beards  right  from  their  eyes  down  and  all 
the  way  around.  It's  a  funny  proposition  now, 
ain't  it.?" 

"Wonder  if  the  regulations  handle  the  beard 
question,"  mused  Capt.  Mills,  at  the  same  time 
reaching  for  a  copy  of  "United  States  Field  Serv- 
ice Regulations,  1913  edition." 

Back  in  the  index  the  Captain  ran  his  finger 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     107 

down  the  Bs.  "Ba,  be — ^be — ^beards.  There  it 
is.    Beard  and  hair;   enhsted  men,  286." 

In  a  second  he  had  trailed  paragraph  286  to 
its  lair,  and  sure  enough  there  it  was  in  bold, 
black  and  modest  white:  *'The  hair  will  be  kept 
short  and  beards  neatly  trimmed." 

"Well,  I  guess  Isadore  wins,"  the  Captain 
sighed,  closing  Regulations  and  returning  it  to 
its  niche.  "That  is,  he  will  lose  only  parts  of  it. 
'Beards  neatly  trimmed.'  That's  what  it  says, 
so  Private  Isadore  Bednass  is  in  for  a  trimming." 

"It's  a  shame.  Captain,"  spoke  up  the  first 
sergeant,  who  in  all  his  fourteen  years  of  army 
hfe  had  seen  few  things  so  wonderful  as  Isadore's 
growth.  "Our  regiment'd  be  famous  in  a  month 
if  it  wouldn't  have  to  be  done.  But  regulations 
is  regulations,  and  'neatly  trimmed'  is  'neatly 
trimmed',  and  I  reckon  it  will  have  to  be  did. 
Say,  Captain,  that  there  'neatly  trimmed'  don't 
necessarily  mean  close  do  it — ^just  neat,  not 
close." 

"Neatly  trimmed,  sergeant,"  Capt.  Mills 
concluded.  "Neatly  and  quickly  and  prefer- 
ably short." 


108      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"In  the  morning,  Captain.  I  think  I  got 
the  same  pair  of  shears  I  used  in  the  Phihppines 
and  on  the  border.  Neat,  quick  and  short,  yes, 
sir.    In  the  morning.    And  preferably  short." 

And  out  on  the  leeward  side  of  barracks  P  13 
Private  Isadore  Bednass  was  stroking  his  full 
and  undefiled  beard  for  what  may  be  the  last 
time. 

2 — ^Patchogue  Twenty  Miles  Away 

Beards,  however,  are  only  one  of  the  million 
scrubby  unnecessary  things  about  a  great, 
sprawling,  overgrown  new  army.  Take,  as  a 
case  in  point,  the  sad  story  of  Monsieur  Jean 
Francaise  of  the  gallant  Shooting  306th. 

Private  Jimmy  Flaherty  of  Company  F,  306th 
Infantry,  made  a  wild  dash  for  Capt.  Johnson's 
office,  hurriedly  saluted  and  spluttered  out  the 
worst  bit  of  news  that  Company  F  has  had  in  all 
its  three  weeks.  "The  cook's  broke  his  upper 
teeth,  Captain !  He  says  he  won't  serve  another 
meal  until  he  gets  'em  fixed." 

Captain  Johnson  thought  for  about  three 
seconds  and  then  ordered  the  cook,  whose  real 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     109 

title  is  chef  de  cuisine  and  who  hails  from  a 
famous  Fifth  Avenue  hostlery,  to  report  in  per- 
son. In  another  two  minutes  Monsieur  Jean 
Francaise  waddled  up  to  Capt.  Johnson,  a  look 
of  sad  determination 
in  his  eyes  and  one  of 
great  loss  and  hollow- 
ness  about  his  lips. 

"Les  dentes,  mon 
Captain,"  the  chef  ex- 
ploded with  appropri- 
ate gestures.  ''Ze 
tooth  do  break  and  I 
queet." 

In  his  outstretched  hand  Jean  showed  his 
poor  uppers  broken  in  haK. 

''We  will  have  them  fixed  for  you,  chef,"  the 
captain  announced  in  a  fine  fatherly  tone. 
''You  go  ahead  and  do  your  work  and  I'll  see 
that  another  pair  is  ordered  from  the  city  at 
once." 

"Work  with  ze  tooth  gone?  Mon  Dieu,  no 
tooth  no  souper;  I  queet." 

Regular  army  sergeants  who,  to  hear  them 


110      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

tell  it,  had  killed  their  hundreds  of  Mexicans  on 
the  border  and  had  shot  bad  men  by  the  score, 
blanched  at  the  thought  of  no  supper.  Rookies 
who  had  passed  perfect  physical  examinations 
fainted  dead  away.  Young  shavetails  with  the 
rosy  cheeks  of  youth  still  clinging  to  their  feather- 
less  jowls  shut  their  eyes  and  appeared  stunned. 
War  is  a  helova  thing,  but  a  toothless  cook  turn- 
ing all  this  into  a  chefless  barracks — ^what  words 
could  describe  this  terrible  affair.^ 

Everywhere  strong  men  gnashed  their  real 
teeth — ^in  fact  everybody  gnashed  their  teeth 
except  Monsieur  Jean  Francaise,  who  had  only 
his  lowers  to  gnash  against  his  poor  unpro- 
tected gums. 

Suddenly  the  voice  of  Private  Jimmy  Flaherty 
rang  out  through  the  still  air.  "I'll  carry  the 
teeth  to  Patchogue!"  cried  our  hero.  ''Gimme 
the  teeth.  Captain!     Gimme  the  teeth!" 

With  joy  springing  to  his  eyes  Capt.  Johnson 
pressed  the  precious  uppers  into  Private  Jim- 
my's hand,  gave  him  a  patriotic  slap  on  the  back 
that  resounded  as  a  perfect  tribute,  and  then 
amid  the  cheering  of  the  whole  company  Private 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     111 

Jimmy  slipped  out  into  the  bright  afternoon 
sunhght. 

Bounce,  bounce,  bounce,  went  the  patter  of 
Jimmy's  faithful  car  as  it  jumped  from  bump  to 
bump  down  the  road.  With  his  right  hand 
Private  Jimmy  guided  the  famous  old  steed 
while  in  his  left  hand  was  tightly  clutched  the 
broken  uppers.  His  lips  were  tightly  drawn; 
he'd  carry  them  store  teeth  to  Patchogue, 
twenty  miles  away,  or  never  again  would  he 
look  his  comrades  in  the  face. 

"My  only  regret  is  that  I  have  only  one  set 
of  teeth  to  give  to  my  company,"  ran  through 
his  mind  over  and  over  again  as  the  wild  wind 
rushed  by. 

And  all  the  while  in  the  barracks  the  men  of 
Company  F  gathered  around  in  little  knots  and 
talked  in  an  undertone.  Back  in  the  mess 
kitchen,  Jean  Francaise  silently  drew  his  upper 
lip  over  the  bare  places  where  his  store  teeth  had 
once  been  shelved.  No  teeth,  no  supper.  He 
would  do  his  best,  but  how  could  one  cook 
when  he  could  not  even  sample  his  own  soup 
or  mashed  potatoes.^     Mon  dieu!     Two  shave- 


112      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

tails  fresh  from  dear  old  Plattsburg  bit  their 
finger  nails  down  to  where  they  began  to  bleed. 
One  rookie  spilled  a  fit  and  three  others  at- 
tempted suicide  in  a  wash  basin. 

Then  suddenly  came  the  patter  of  the  gray 
motor  leaping  from  rock  to  rock.  Around  the 
corner  she  pranced,  and  then  in  one  wild  jump 
Private  Jimmy  Flaherty  leaped  from  the  plung- 
ing car  and  into  the  barracks.  In  his  right  hand 
he  held  high  a  perfect  set  of  uppers  patched  and 
vulcanized  in  the  best  Patchogue  method.  The 
honour  of  Company  F  was  saved. 

With  one  great  shout  Private  Jimmy  rushed 
to  the  mess  kitchen  and  delivered  his  precious 
charge.  And  ah!  what  a  pretty  reunion  scene 
took  place  then!  With  the  love  light  gleaming 
in  his  eyes  and  tears  streaming  down  his  fat 
cheeks  Chef  Jean  Francaise  took  the  uppers, 
gave  them  one  gentle  but  expressive  pat  and 
then  shot  them  home. 

And  then,  ah,  then  it  was  that  the  tender 
httle  climax  came!  Quite  unthinking,  but  in 
the  true,  quick  impulsiveness  of  the  Latin,  our 
Jean  threw  both  arms  about  our  blushing  hero. 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     113 

and  with  his  uppers  clenched  tightly  against  his 
lowers  planted  one  large  smacker  on  each  of 
Private  Jimmy's  flushed  cheeks. 

And  even  the  West  front  hath  few  terrors 
for  Private  Jimmy  now. 

3 — ^The  Call  of  the  Pick 

It's  just  as  well  after  all  to  say  "Mister"  to 
an  army  cook.  Great  are  his  possibilities  for 
good  or  evil.  And  although  trim  young  train- 
ing camp  graduates  with  two  silver  bars  on  their 
shoulder  straps  may  dispute  it  the  cold  fact  re- 
mains that  a  company's  mystic  es'prit  de  corps 
is  born  in  the  mess  hall  and  not  in  the  captain's 
orderly  room. 

Private  Lorenzo  Piazza  trailed  back  for  his 
third  big  helping.  Chef  Jacques  Brenton's — ^he 
who  used  to  be  second  cook  in  the  greatest  of  all 
Manhattan  hotels — Chef  Brenton's  vegetable 
soup,  pork  and  beans,  rice  pudding  and  tea  was 
a  feast  that  even  the  gods  might  easily  slide  down 
from  Mount  Olympus  to  enjoy. 

"Look  at  that  there  boy  eat,"  remarked  the 
top  Sergeant  Bill  Donovan.     "If  the  Govern- 


114      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

ment  can  feed  him  on  37.49  cents  per  diem, 
then  I  don't  cost  'em  more'n  about  16  cents." 

Sergeant  Donovan,  United  States  regular,  red 
faced,  long,  lean,  hard — ^one  might  almost  say 
tough — accepted  another  of  the  proffered  cigar- 
ettes. It  was  quite  possible  a  tale  was  coming, 
and  tales  by  these  red  necked  regulars  are 
always   welcome. 

"Well,  he  certainly  don't  look  like  much  of 
an  eater,"  opined  the  one  in  need  of  a  story. 
Then  as  fresh  bait:  "He's  not  very  big  and  it 
don't  seem  possible." 

"In^the  first  place,  he's  a  furriner — and  fur- 
riners  always  are  great  of  eatin'  away  from 
home  like  that.  Then  he  is  one  of  these  Eye- 
talians,  and  I  ain't  never  seen  an  Eyetalian  in 
my  life  who  weren't  a  right  good  eater.  But 
that  ain't  the  funny  thing  about  him." 

Sergeant  Donovan,  fully  versed  in  the  art  of 
suspense,  leaned  back  on  his  bench,  took  a 
a  deep  inhalation  of  his  bribe  cigarette  and  let 
the  smoke  ooze  out.  He  would  need  careful 
nursing,  but  it  might  be  worth  the  trouble.  No 
average    black     eyed,    short,    smiling     son    of 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     115 

Naples  ordinarily  would  require  three  shots  of 
Chef  Brenton's  pork  and,  with  trimming.  Then, 
too,  it  was  Saturday  evening,  and  of  the  200  in 
Private  Lorenzo's  company  all  but  a  few  had 
taken  part  in  the  great  exodus  to  the  city. 
Three  hours  before  his  messmates  had  joyously 
gone  forth  from  the  barracks  homeward  bound 
with  the  others  for  the  week  end. 

''Seems  to  me  he'd  be  heading  for  the  great 
White  Way,"  was  suggested  to  the  Sarge,  in  a 
faint  but  desperate  hope. 

''Not  that  there  bird.  Nothing  but  the 
Milky  Way  fur  him  fur  some  time  to  come. 
He's  goin'  to  take  his  pleasure  right  in  this  here 
camp,  and  he's  lucky  at  that.  In  the  old  days 
in  the  army  they  used  to  give  a  man  three  and 
three — ^three  months  and  $10  a  month  fur  doing 
what  this  here  Eyetalian  done." 

"All  right,  I  bite — and  what  did  this  here 
Italian  do?"  It  was  plain  to  see  that  too  much 
time  and  space  was  being  wasted  in  getting 
down  to  the  story. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  ya.  Last  week  he  come 
around  to  me  and  he  said,  'Lieutenant — ^you 


116       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

know  that  these  here  rookies  call  everybody 
Captain  at  first,  and  then  the  next  day  when 
they  see  so  many  lieutenants  they  call  every- 
body lieutenants.'  Well,  he  said,  'Lieutenant, 
I  gotta  de  sick  wife,  I  wanta  go  New  York.  See, 
here,  she  write  me — ^you  see.' 

"With  that  he  pulls  a  greasy  letter  on  me  all 
written  in  Eyetalian  words  just  like  I  could  read 
that  stuff.  And  I  says  to  him,  '  Whatcha  take 
me  fur.'^     Some  language  professor.^' 

'''But  she  ver  seek,  Lieutenant,'  he  kept 
sayin',  pointing  to  the  letter  and  getting  all 
excited.  So  I  wrote  him  out  a  pass  for  two 
days  and  he  about  broke  his  neck  catchin'  the 
evenin'  train  for  the  city.  That  was  Sunday 
morning  and  the  beggar'd  only  been  down  here 
four  or  five  days.  He  hadn't  even  drawed  his 
uniform  yet,  and  of  course,  except  in  name,  he 
weren't  nohow  to  be  considered  a  soldier." 

As  if  conveying  a  distinct  favour,  the  sergeant 
accepted  a  fresh  cigarette,  lit  it  off  the  butt  of 
his  badly  used  one,  and  with  this  bit  of  incense 
to  the  Muse  continued : 

"Tuesday  came — and  no  Eyetalian.     Wed- 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     117 

nesday — ^and  no  Eyetalian.  Thursday — and  no 
Eyetalian.  Two  days  overstayin'  his  leave  ain't 
no  very  brilHant  way  for  a  rookie  to  start  out 
his  military  career.  But  I  weren't  worried  none, 
because  I  figured  his  wife  was  worse — and  by 
the  looks  of  that  Eyetalian  letter  she  musta 
been  purty  bad  when  he  first  left. 

"Well,  yesterday  when  I  was  walkin*  over 
to  see  them  poor  bums  in  the  artillery  unloadin' 
their  three-inch  guns  and  I  passed  a  bunch  of 
labourers  workin'  on  the  road,  say,  who  do  you 
reckon  I  seen.^  My  Eyetalian — ^that  bird  over 
there.  He  was  shovelin'  aw^ay  in  good  shape 
and  singin'  a  song  at  the  same  time.  But  he 
mighty  soon  changed  his  tune  when  I  got 
through  talkin'  to  him.  I  asked  him  if  he  didn't 
know  he  was  desertin' — ^course  he  wasn't  really 
desertin',  but  only  bein'  absent  without  leave — 
and  if  he  didn't  know  they  shot  deserters  in  time 
of  war.  Then  I  run  him  over  to  the  barracks 
here  and  took  him  up  to  the  captain,  supposin', 
of  course,  he'd  get  at  least  three  months  and 
ten  a  month. 

"Well,  the  captain  tried  to  talk  to  the  bird. 


118      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

but  he  were  so  badly  scared  he  could  only  talk 
his  natural  language.  Then  I  brung  him  a 
interpreter  and  we  had  a  right  satisfactory  chat. 
He  said  he'd  come  back  from  the  city  Tuesday 
night,  but  when  he  was  coming  in  he  was  offered 
a  job  working  in  the  gang  where  he  could  make 
from  $4  to  $6  a  day  and  he  figured  he'd  just 
take  it  a  little  while  and  make  some  easy  money. 

"Well,  the  captain  he  allowed  this  here  boy 
didn't  know  much  about  how  serious  it  was  to 
overstay  a  leave,  and  so  he'd  just  deny  him  any 
more  leaves  for  a  while  and  let  him  do  kitchen 
police  for  a  month.  I  got  feelin'  purty  sorry 
for  him  too,  me  knowing  about  his  sick  wife  and 
everything  and  thinkin'  he  needed  the  dough  he 
was  making,  so  I  asked  him  how  his  wife  was. 
He  kinda  smiled  for  about  one-tenth  of  a  second, 
then,  and  said  she  was  better.     But  I  was  hep. 

"'Lemme  see  that  letter  again,  private,'  I 
ordered.  Well,  them  black  eyes  of  his'n  twinkled 
when  he  handed  it  over.  I  looked  at  it  a  half 
minute  and  then  I  called  for  the  interpreter  to 
come  back. 

''Say,   you    shoulda   heard   that   epistle.     It 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     119 

were  the  lovinist  love  letter  I  ever  heard  read. 
I'd  like  to  have  a  copy  of  it  myself.  It  was  all 
full  of  how  bad  she  wanted  to  see  her  Lorenzo, 
and  how  she  couldn't  wait  no  longer  fur  him, 
and  that  he  simply  must  come  in  and  see  her, 
and  if  he  didn't  that  she  was  going  to  take  in  a 
picture  show  with  some  Eyetalian  barber.  He 
didn't  have  no  more  sick  wife  than  I  got.  Kmda 
one  on  me,  weren't  it.^" 

And  it  was  generally  acknowledged  that  it 
was. 

4 — "Have  Some  Moah  Pie,  Louie.^" 

But  for  all  that  Lorenzo's  troubles  were 
slight.  The  War  Gods  had  hardly  started  their 
army  pranks  with  him.  And  should  he  think 
different  let  him  read — or  rather  let  some  one 
else  read  to  him — ^the  story  of  Abie  and  the  one 
hundred  and  fifty  bucks. 

"Have  some  moah  pie,  Louie,"  Abie  begged. 
"Took  some  moah  ice  cream  once,  Bennie. 
Don't  I  got  de  money?    Ask  me,  ain't  it.^" 

Louie,  properly  urged,  took  another  half  of 
juicy,  flakey  apple  pie,  while  Bennie  opened  a 


120      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

fresh  box  of  brick  cream.  It  was  a  wild  debauch 
for  a  trio  of  rookies  in  this  Army  of  Freedom, 
but  it  was  a  happy  one.  Private  Abie  Einstein 
was  spending  his  dough  Hke  an  old-time  deep  sea 
salt  just  landed  in  a  very  wet  port  after  six 
straight  months  on  a  very  dry  ocean.  And 
Private  Abie  had  no  such  habit,  either  by  train- 
ing, experience,  race  or  education. 

"Abie,  you  gotta  lotta  mooney,  ain't  you, 
Abie?"  Louie  asked  sohcitiously.  "You  gotta 
a  lotta  mooney  for  a  solger,  Abie.^  " 

"Shu'a!  Shu'a!  I  got  feefty  dollar,"  Abie 
modestly  allowed.  "Anoder  piece  of  dat  apple 
pie,  mista.  Bennie  took  a  piece,  too.  Bennie, 
don't  I  got  de  mooney  .^^ " 

"Abie,  I  can't  eat  some  moah  yet — I  would 
kill  myself  dead."  Bennie  begged  off.  "Yester- 
day I  don't  go  home  far  da  Thanksgive,  and  I 
hope  I  die,  Abie,  if  I  don't  eat  a  turkey  here  all 
by  myself  once.  Honest,  I  was  glad  dat  Captain 
he  don't  let  me  go  by  home  because  all  I  would 
have  got  home  was  one  piece  of  chicken  maybe, 
and  here  I  get  a  whole  turkey  for  myself.  An' 
now  Abie  you  make  me  eat  foua  pieces  of  pie 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     121 

and  a  couple  of  dozen  ice  cream  and  I  got  de 
beg  fill  already. 

With  a  generous  turn  of  his  hand  Abie  ap- 
pealed to  Bennie  for  assistance  in  spending 
more  of  his  money  in  riotous  army  living.  But 
Bennie,  as  well,  had  reached  the  end  of  his 
capacity. 

"Honest,  Abie,  I  would  eat  from  now  on 
until  this  Christian  Santa  Claus  come  if  I  could 
stand  it."  Bennie  swore.  "But  ask  me,  Abie, 
can  a  fish  drink  dry  by  himself  an  ocean?  And 
besides,  Abie,  tell  me  dat  is  a  lotta  mooney  for 
a  solger.    Tell  me,  Abie,  ain't  it .^" 

"Shu'a,  shu'a,  but  a  joke  it  is,"  Abie  answered. 
"I  gotta  a  feefty  dollars,  and  I  can  spend  him 
now  like  a  shentleman.  A  funny  thing  it  vas. 
I  Oi,  oi,  dat  vas  a  funny  bizness." 

Abie  chuckled  joyously  while  he  opened  a 
^  fresh  bit  of  cream.  Fifty  dollars  is  a  rare  joke 
to  almost  anybody. 

"Dat  fella  Isadore  Beller,  a  kike  boy  he  is 
who  run  a  pa\vnshop  by  the  Bronx,  oi,  oi.  Izzy  was 
a  sucker,  he  was.  Four  months  ago  I  go  by  Izzy 
and  say,  *Give  me  da  hundred  an'  fefty  dollar.' 


122      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Izzy  he  give  me  da  mooney,  but  I  pay  three 
dollar  a  month  interest.  And  then  I  come  down 
here  by  the  draft  an'  I  don't  say  nudding  to  Izzy, 
or  nudding  to  nobody.  An'  then  a  couple  of 
weeks  ago  who  should  I  saw  but  Izzy  Beller  like 
a  soldier  with  a  uniform  and  everything  like  a 
soldier.  And  he  was  in  Company  C  of  the  304th 
Machine  Gun  Battalion,  he  was. 

"*Give  me  my  hundred  and  fefty  dollar,' 
Izzy  he  said.  *I  go  by  the  army  and  I  close  up 
my  bizness.  If  you  don't  pay  me  I  go  by  your 
Captain  and  tell  him  and  he  took  you  out  and 
give  you  da  shoot.' 

"Veil,  I  got  scared  like  everything  and  I 
write  Abie,  '  If  you  don't  tell  my  Captain,  I  pay 
you  fefty  dollar  and  ten  dollar  by  the  month, 
I  will.' 

"An'  su'a  I  was  going  to  pay  de  fefty  dollar 
and  jes  as  Abie  was  startin'  over  to  get  de 
mooney  hes  Captain  he  come  by  the  barracks 
and  he  holler  'Isadore  Beller!'  an'  Izzy  he  say, 
'Yes,  sah,  Isadore  Beller  I  am.  Captain.' 

"*You  leave  in  one-half  hour  for  Camp  Gor- 
don, Private  Beller,'  dat  Captain  he  say.    'Pack 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     123 

up  and  catcli  de  train;  anoder  solger  he  was  sick 
and  you  go  in  his  place.' 

'"Oi,  oi,  I  should  go  by  Camp  Gordon,  cap- 
tain, when  Abie  Einstein  owes  me  hundred  an' 
fefty  dollar,'  Izzy  he  say.  But  it  don'  do  no 
good  by  dat  captain.  He  tell  Izzy  he  must  go, 
and  when  Izzy  cry  dat  he  come  an'  get  de  fefty 
dollar  the  captain  say  de  train  she  don'  wait  for 
fefty  dollar.  So  Izzy  he  go  by  Camp  Gordon 
and  I  got  de  fefty.  Have  some  moah  pie, 
Louie.     Bennie,  you  like  moah  ice  cream.^" 

Bennie  shook  his  head.  And  then,  though 
guest  he  was,  Bennie  threw  the  first  dark  cloud 
into  Abie's  perfect  day. 

''Don'  he  write  by  your  captain,  Abie?  Eh, 
what.^  He  can  write  from  Camp  Gordon, 
Abie." 

"I  should  vorry,  no,  I  should,"  Abie  boasted. 
"If  dat  guy  he  writes  by  my  captain  I  will  stood 
right  up  and  say " 

"Private  Abie  Einstein!"  shouted  a  bull  neck, 
red  faced  buck  private  orderly,  sticking  his  head 
into  the  door.  "Fur  the  lova  Mike  come  on 
over.     The  captain's  been  wantin'  to  see  ya  fur 


124      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

an  hour.  You  gotta  go  down  to  Camp  Gordon 
with  them  other  nuts.     Hurry  up!" 

Private  Abie  Einstein,  recent  host  and  royal 
entertainer,  laid  down  his  half  box  of  cream,  for 
food  no  longer  tasted  the  same  to  him.  Then 
he  suddenly  grew  slightly  pale  around  the  gills, 
and  his  lips  trembled. 

"Oi,  oi,  oi!"  he  wailed.  "My  hundred  and 
fefty  dollar.     Oi!     Oi!" 

5 — No  Irish  Need  Apply 

But  lest  there  be  some  who  might  feel  that 
this  army  list  is  an  exclusive  one,  it  might  be 
well  to  tell  the  short  story  of  Private  Denny 
O'Keefe  and  his  clan. 

The  bulletin  board  in  barracks  P.  49,  where 
the  15^d  depot  battalion  holds  forth,  had  an 
order  plastered  on  its  pine  board  face  that 
attracted  far  and  away  more  attention  than  any 
other  notice  that  it  has  ever  held  in  all  its  four- 
teen days  of  active  army  life.  It  read  something 
like  this: 

All  men  of  the  Hebrew  faith  desiring  to  return  to  their 
homes  to  attend  the  Yom  Kippm*  hohday  may  do  so  by 


CABBAGES,  KINGS— AND  COOKS     125 

making  a  request  to  their  company  commander.  Special 
trains  will  leave  the  camp  at  1  p.m.  Tuesday,  and  return 
from  New  York  and  Brooklyn  at  1.45  p.m.,  Wednesday. 

To  one-fourth  of  the  rookies  in  camp  the  order 
meant  a  good  deal,  and  to  the  other  seventy-five 
per  cent,  it  was  the  occasion  of  jealousy.  For 
instance,  a  brawny  young  man  went  up  to 
Captain  Hoyer  one  morning,  and  after  chcking 
his  heels  together  and  snapping  a 
very  creditable  salute,  entered 
forthwith  with  the  business  on 
hand. 

"I  want  to  get  off  for  the  Jewish 
holiday,  captain,"  he  very  respect- 
fully asked. 

''What holiday?"  asked  Captain 
Hoyer. 

"Oh,  just  a  regular  Jewish  hoh- 
day." 

"Well,  what  particular  one  do  you  mean. 
There  are  quite  a  number  of  them,"  the  cap- 
tain suggested.  "Which  one  do  you  want  to 
get  a  leave  for.^" 

"Any  one  of  'em  is  all  right,  captain." 


126      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Say,  what's  your  name?"  the  officer  de- 
manded, the  truth  slowly  dawning  upon  him. 

"Dennis  O'Keefe,  sir." 

"Well,  two  hours  woodpile  fatigue  will  do  for 
you,  Private  O'Keefe." 

So  while  Private  Denny  O'Keefe  flirted  with 
the  scrub  oaks  2,500  young  men,  whose  names 
were  neither  Denny  nor  O'Keefe,  were  speeding 
right  merrily  toward  the  big  town. 

But  may  Denny's  axe  be  sharp  and  the  scrub 
oak  be  gentle  and  the  time  be  fleeting  for  poor 
Denny,  who  did  his  best  according  to  his  lights. 


CHAPTER  SIX 
SHOULDER  STRAPS 


CHAPTER  SIX 

SHOULDER  STRAPS 

1 — ^Pals  Anyhow 

PARADES  are  hourly  occurrences  around 
this  great  camp,  and  attract  Uttle  more 
attention  than  any  one  of  the  thousands 
of  motor  cars,  but  it  was  apparent  to  even  the 
casual  observer  that  this  was  no  ordinary  march- 
ing of  men.  Now  and  then  half  of  the  hundred 
and  fifty  odd  men  would  break  out  in  httle 
snatches  of  a  war  song,  "Good-by,  Broadway," 
"Over  There,"  "He's  Going  Over."  Then  they 
would  whistle  and  then  for  long  minutes  they 
would  march  along  in  silence. 

They  had  started  out  in  carefully  aligned 
column  of  fours,  but  somehow  the  request  had 
come  that  the  strict  military  formation  be 
broken  and  that  they  simply  march  as  a  crowd. 
In  the  centre  of  the  long,  irregular  column  there 


130      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

was  a  trim  young  soldier  in  the  shiny  new  uni- 
form of  a  First  Lieutenant. 

On  his  right  trudged  a  great  hulk  of  a  man  in 
the  uniform  of  a  private,  but  with  the  peculiar 
insignia  of  the  mess  kitchen  on  his  left  sleeve, 
and,  as  if  it  were  but  an  empty  bag,  he  was  carry- 
ing a  large  suit  case  with  sides  almost  bulging. 
On  the  left  of  the  officer  marched  a  soldier  with 
a  corporal's  chevrons  on  his  coat  sleeves  and 
next  to  him  a  second  non-commissioned  officer 
wearing  the  insignia  of  a  company  mess  sergeant. 

"It's  my  turn  to  carry  it  now,"  pleaded  Cor- 
poral Hadford. 

"  Come  on,  Fat,  give  me  Joe's  bag;  we're  almost 
down  to  the  station  now.     It's  my  turn." 

Fat  Fields,  second  cook  and  football  star,  re- 
linquished the  bag,  but  very  reluctantly.  "You 
and  Al  are  the  only  guys  in  the  world  that  I'd 
let  carry  Joe's  bag,  I  wanta  tell  you.  Say  I 
wish  you  were  going  to  stay,  Joe." 

It  was  most  certainly  a  bit  of  peculiar  business 
— this  parade  of  selected  men  with  one  officer 
in  the  centre  and  with  two  non-coms  and  a  cook 
fighting  to  see  who  would  carry  his  bag  and  all 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  131 

addressing  him  with  unmistakable  affection  as 
Joe. 

Even  in  this  most  democratic  Army  of  Free- 
dom discipUne  and  respect  for  officers  has  been 
drilled  and  ground  into  the  30,000  so*  that  frat 
brothers  and  classmates  whom  the  twist  of  fate 
and  the  whirligig  of  time  have  thrown  into  dif- 
ferent military  spheres  now  know  each  other 
only  formally  and  with  full  military  title.  But 
here  was  a  First  Lieutenant  being  called  Joe. 

Word  was  whispered  back  from  First  Sergeant 
Haig  at  the  head  of  the  column  that  it  lacked 
only  five  minutes  of  train  time  and  a  faster  stride 
would  have  to  be  struck  up.  So  the  company 
swung  along  at  top  speed,  and  in  the  centre 
Corporal  D anbury  struggled  with  the  heavy 
bag  and  pretended  that  it  was  as  light  as  a 
feather. 

In  four  minutes  the  head  of  the  column  turned 
in  at  the  railroad  station  and  drew  up  in  double 
files  alongside  the  last  car.  And  Fat,  the  cook, 
and  Al  Williams,  mess  sergeant,  and  Corporal 
Danbury  boosted  First  Lieut.  Joe  up  to  the 
back  platform  and  handed  up  his  heavy  bag 


132      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 


alongside   of   him.     And   First   Sergeant   Haig 
started  the  men  singing  "He's  Going  Over." 

It  was  a  great  moment  for  Joe  Schuldheis, 
once  of  Danbury,  Conn.,  later  of  557  West  148th 
Street,  Manhattan,  and  later  still  a  corporal  of 
Company  E,  302d  Engineers,  N.  A.,  and  now 

First  Lieut.  J.  Schuld- 
heis of  the  newly  formed 
Stevedore  Division. 

It's  something  to  be 
the  first  National  Army 
man  to  win  a  commis- 
sion, but  it's  a  hundred 
more  to  win  such  a  place 
in  the  hearts  of  the 
whole  company  as  this 
farewell  proved  that  Joe 
had  won.  And  for  these  three  pals  of  his — 
Fat,  the  cook,  Al,  the  mess  sergeant,  and  Joe 
Danbury,  his  bunkie  corporal — well,  somehow 
no  one  can  know  what  the  word  "pal"  really 
means  until  he's  been  in  the  army.  Friendships 
out  here  are  deeper  and  truer  because  relations 
are  more  constant  and  trying,  and  then,  too. 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  133 

soldiers  stand  on  their  own  army  shoes  and,  Uke 
adventurers,  pick  their  pals  without  regard  to 
past  deeds  and  reputations. 

So  on  the  last  platform  of  the  5:30  train  for 
New  York  last  night  Joe,  the  fourth  of  this 
strange  quartet  of  fighting  men,  stood  and  looked 
down  on  his  pals  and  the  men  of  his  company 
and  tried  to  smile.  For  two  months  he  had 
eaten  their  food  and  smoked  their  smokes  and 
worked  with  them  and  yarned  with  them  and 
laughed  with  them  and  soldiered  with  them, 
and  now  he  was  an  officer  and  going  over 
there. 

Years  of  managing  great  gangs  of  dock  work- 
men had  made  him  peculiarly  valuable  to  this 
Stevedore  Division,  and  so  it  was  that  a  few 
weeks  ago  he  was  sent  for  and  asked  to  take  the 
examination  for  a  commission  in  the  division. 
A  week  ago  word  came  that  he  had  passed  and 
he  was  ordered  to  report  to-day  at  an  Atlantic 
port. 

While  waiting  for  his  discharge  papers  he 
slipped  into  the  city  Friday  and  got  his  uniform. 
And  Monday  morning  he  reported  back  to  his 


134      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

old  company,  but  this  time  with  the  single  bars 
of  a  First  Lieutenant  on  his  shoulder  straps. 

And  the  men,  his  old  pals  of  Company  E, 
saluted  the  uniform  and  the  rank. 

"Cut  it  out,"  he  smilingly  ordered  them.  "I'm 
one  of  you  fellows:  I'm  just  one  of  the  boys 
around  here.  Don't  salute  me  and  don't  call 
me  Lieutenant.    I'm  Joe  to  you  boys." 

But  Captain  La  Fetra  suggested  that  Lieut. 
Schuldheis  move  to  the  officers'  quarters  and 
eat  at  the  officers'  mess. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Captain,  I'll  stay  here 
with  the  men,"  Joe  answered.  "I'll  be  going 
out  in  a  day  or  two  and  I'll  just  eat  with  them." 

So  Joe  stayed  on  with  Corporal  Danbury,  his 
bunkie  mate,  and  Fat  Fields,  the  second  cook, 
saw  that  he  got  the  choice  bit  of  steak  and  an 
egg  for  breakfast  and  Al  Williams,  mess  sergeant, 
split  his  extra  fruit  with  him.  And  just  as  he 
had  given  his  four  Liberty  bonds  to  the  Red 
Cross  when  he  had  come  out  with  the  second 
contingent  on  September  21  so  Joe  turned  over 
all  the  Government  pay  that  was  coming  to 
him  to  start  a  company  mess  fund.    And  there 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  135 

were  cigarettes  for  everybody  and  little  loans 
and  Company  E  was  the  same  as  of  old  again. 

Joe  had  planned  to  slip  away  to  the  station 
with  just  his  three  pals,  but  somehow  the  word 
sneaked  out,  and  when  he  started  out  he  found 
a  company  in  column  of  fours  waiting  for  him. 
And  now  he  was  standing  on  the  back  platform 
looking  down  at  them  all  for  perhaps  the  last 
time.  The  song  had  been  finished  and  some 
one  in  the  150  shouted  for  a  speech.  So  Joe 
took  his  officer's  cap  and  stepped  to  the  railing. 
But  the  words  wouldn't  come.  And  just  then 
far  ahead,  the  engine  whistle  tooted  and  the 
trainmen  began  their  final  "All  aboard!"  and 
slowly  the  long  train  creaked,  grunted  and 
started  to  move. 

A  low  command  from  the  first  Sergeant  and 
the  double  column  drew  up  at  attention.  Then 
a  second  command,  and  every  man  brought 
his  hand  to  his  campaign  hat  in  perfect  salute. 
And  then  Joe's  heels  clicked  together  and  his 
own  right  hand  touched  his  cap,  and  as  long  as 
they  could  see  him  slipping  silently  out  of  their 
lives  through  the  deep  twilight  with  his  hand  at 


136      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

salute  these  men  of  Company  E  held  their  posi- 
tions. Then  silently  they  trudged  on  back  to 
their  barracks. 


2 — "Nuttin'  But  A  Shavetail" 

This  little  story  of  shoulder  straps  might  be 
called  "Only  a  Subaltern,"  or,  to  Americanise 
Kipling's  Indian  army  term  to  National  Army 
slang,  "Nuttin'  But  A  Shavetail." 

Second  Lieutenant  Gutman,  Company  F, 
308th  Infantry,  the  shavetail  in  the  piece, 
hasn't  the  least  idea  that  it's  going  to  be  written, 
but  Sergeant  F.  S.  Grey  and  high  private  Burt 
Butler  have. 

"No,  sir,  there  is  not  any  news  around  here," 
Sergeant  Grey,  formerly  detective-sergeant  at- 
tached to  Police  Headquarters  at  Brooklyn, 
announced.  "There  isn't  anything  doing  at  all 
— ^we  haven't  any  heroes  or  cripples  or  crying 
men  or  company  mascots  or  anything  of  the 
kind." 

"Naw,  there  ain't  nuttin',"  high  private 
Butler  coincided,  "unless  you  wanta  say  that 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  137 

Company  F's  the  best  company  in  the  regiment. 
Ain't  she,  sarge?" 

Sarge  Grey,  upstanding,  broad,  with  the 
square  look  of  one  of  ex-PoKce  Commissioner 
Wood's  men,  smiled  down  at  his  short,  stocky  pal. 
^' Guess  we  can't  help  you  any  to-day.  Drop 
around  again.     'Tention,  'tention,  you  men." 

Sergeant  Grey  and  High  Private  Butler 
brought  their  heels  together  and  saluted,  as  a 
rather  youngish  Lieutenant  walked  through  the 
barrack  corridor  into  the  orderly  room.  As  soon 
as  the  door  had  slammed  behind  him,  Private 
Burt  dropped  back  into  his  slouch,  but  made  a 
suggestion  with  much  more  enthusiasm  than 
Burt  usually  exliibits. 

'*Say,  would  you  write  a  little  piece  about  the 
lieutenant  there?"  he  asked.  "Say,  would  you 
do  that  for  the  Sarge  and  I.^  Honest,  that  guy 
is  the  whitest  guy  that  you  ever  saw  around  this 
old  camp.  He's  a  bearcat.  Can't  you  say  that 
in  your  piece?     Honest,  he  deserves  it." 

Army  tradition,  policy,  conventionality,  and 
the  whole  scheme  of  military  things  were 
tumbled  head  over  heels.    There  was  a  rookie 


138      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 


in  a  selected  army  who,  by  all  the  dope  sheets 
and  form  figuring,  should  be  cursing  his  luck, 
swearing  at  his  superiors  and  frothing  at  the 
mouth  with  hatred.  But,  instead,  he  was  beg- 
ging that  a  eulogy  be  written  about 
his  lieutenant. 

"That'd  be  fine,  if  you  could 
write  a  little  piece  about  him,"  Ser- 
geant Grey  announced.  "All  the 
men  think  a  lot  of  him  and  they'd 
all  be  glad  if  you  could  write  up 
something.  He  isn't  even  in  our 
platoon,  but  everybody  is  nuts  about 
him.  Don't  you  think  you  could 
fix  up  something.^" 
"With  painstaking  effort  it  was  explained  to 
Burt  that  stories  must  have  something  else  than 
a  wish  or  a  hope  expressed  behind  them  and 
that  there  were  a  thousand  lieutenants  in 
camp. 

"But  he's  such  a  white  guy,"  Burt  insisted. 
"He  pulls  away  on  his  old  pipe  during  his  rest 
periods,  when  we're  out  drilling,  and  he  let's 
everybody  smoke,  and  if  we  run  a  second  over 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  139 

our  fifteen  minutes  he  doesn't  get  all  het  up 
and  bawl  us  out." 

But  again  it  was  explained  to  Burt  that  you 
couldn't  hang  a  story  on  a  pipe  and  fifteen- 
minute  rest  periods. 

"Listen,  I  tella  you  a  story  about  dat  lootent," 
said  a  short,  swarthy  soldier,  who  had  been 
standing  around  in  the  group  gathered  in  the 
hall.  "My  name  ees  Angelo  Commado,  anna 
w'en  I  come  here  I  say,  to  hell  wid  the 
armee,  I  no  gonna  work,  I  no  carry  gun,  I  no 
fight. 

"Walla,  I  was  ver'  bad  solger.  I  gotta  de 
punishment — ^theesa  keetchen  police,  guarda 
dutee,  everything.  Maybe  I  get  put  in  da  coop 
after  while.  I  gotta  da  hate  in  my  heart.  I 
no  wanta  serve  first. 

"Some  non-coms  they  try  make  me  work, 
but  I  fit  back.  I  gotta  da  hate  here  in  my  heart. 
An'  I  do  more  keetchen  police  an'  guarda  dutee. 
I  think  run  away  some  day.  I — ^what  you  call 
him? — ^yes,  I  desert  some  day. 

"Then  wanna  day  theese  Loo'tent — this  beeg, 
fine  Loo'tent  Gutman,  he  come  to  me  anna  he 


140      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

say,  'Angelo,  you  maka  th'  bigga  fool  wid  your- 
self. You  no  canna  do  these  kinda  work.  Be 
man,  regular  man,  Angelo.  Serva  your  coun- 
tree — your  countree  look  after  you  good.  You 
promise  me  you  be  th'  good  man  and  I  speck 
your  captain.  You  beginna  all  good  and  we 
forget  every  ting  past.     Promise  Angelo. ' 

''Anna  for  that  fina  man,  that  Loo'tent,  I 
promise,  anna  everything  she  fine  now.  I  go  to 
da  hell  for  my  Loo'tent,  if  he  say  'Angelo,  you 
go.'  He  maka  me  good  solger — ^no  one  else  do, 
justa  my  Loo'tent.     I  fit  for  him,  I  do." 

Angelo  finished  with  his  eulogy,  turned  and 
shuffled  on  upstairs  shaking  with  suppressed 
emotion. 

On  the  steps  outside  a  bugle  blew  for  retreat 
and  there  was  a  scramble  and  rush  for  blouses 
and  guns.  Sergeant  Grey  and  High  Private 
Burt  hurriedly  excused  themselves  and  joined  the 
hne  forming  in  the  company  streets. 

A  great  cold  sun  was  dropping  behind  a  low  hill 
to  the  west.  Another  day  in  the  Ufe  of  this  big 
wonderful  democratic  Army  of  Freedom  was 
officially  being  brought  to  a  close. 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  141 

The  first  sergeant  calling  the  roll  finished  the 
A's  and  the  B's. 

"Commado,"  he  sang  out. 

"Here!"  shouted  a  short,  stalky,  swarthy  sol- 
dier. And  there  was  confidence  and  willingness 
and  pride  in  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

3 — An  Army  That  Doesn't  Know  ''Annie 
Laurie" 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  shoulder 
straps  and  arm  stripes — and  sometimes  it  is  all 
in  favour  of  the  latter.  And  in  this  great  bud- 
ding Army  of  Freedom  there  have  been  cast  by 
chance  old  soldiers,  ancient  in  both  years  and 
service  whose  stripes  are  insignias  of  army  wis- 
dom, while  the  gold  bars  of  many  shavetails  are 
marks  of  only  enthusiasm  and  hope.  Take  for 
instance,  the  case  of  Dan  Gregory. 

Top  Sergeant  Dan  Gregory  sole  survivor  of 
a  noble  race  of  old  Regular  Army  dads,  stopped 
short  in  his  tracks  when  the  music  of  a  real  jazz 
tune  orchestra  came  through  Company  B  bar- 
racks, 307th  Infantry,  to  his    dusty  and  hard- 


142      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

worn  ears.  It  was  an  unusual  sound,  even  in  a 
camp  that  has  borne  more  new  and  strange 
notes  than  the  entire  American  army  that  was, 
and  so  marked  was  it  that  the  ancient  sarge 
strolled  over  to  investigate. 

"Shades  of  U.  S.  Grant!"  the  sarge  exclaimed 
half  to  himself  after  one  short  peek  through  the 
open  and  curtained  barracks  window.  "An' 
they  call  that  soldiering.  What's  our  army 
comin'  to — ^with  a  lot  of  dude  rookies  holdin'  a 
shindig  with  a  flock  of  real  ladies  and  drinkin' 
red  lemonade  and  actin'  polite  like  a  bunch  of 
college  sissies.^  An'  this  bein'  an  afternoon  off 
an'  all  they  can  think  of  is  to  put  on  a  matinee 
like  this.     An'  they  calls  this  an  army!" 

Just  then  the  jazz  orchestra  slowed  up  and 
there  were  city  bowing  and  scraping  and  ap- 
plauding. Sarge  Gregory  looked  again  and  then 
half  turned  to  the  freckled  red-faced  buck  second 
sergeant,  who  claimed  companionship  with  the 
oracle  through  his  two  years  on  the  wild  and  un- 
tamed border.  The  sarge  mournfully  an- 
nounced : 

"May  I  go  before  a  G.  C.  M.  to-night  if  them 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  143 

dudes  ain't  got  a  coloured  orchestra,  too.  Yes, 
sir,  they've  went  over  to  this  coloured  outfit  in 
camp  and  got  'em  a  pair  of  smoke  players  for  to 
dance  to.  Well,  I  might  ha'  knowed  it  all  the 
time;  I  always  said  an  army  that  would  turn 
down  'Annie  Laurie'  fur  jazz  music  wasn't  no 
army  fur  an  old  soldier  to  be  connected  with. 
An'  now  I  know  it  fur  sure." 

At  this  moment  Bill  Johnson,  in  military  circles 
a  high  private,  but  in  music  life  the  playingest 
trick  track  drummer  in  eleven  States  and  the 
District  of  Columbia,  cut  loose  with  eight  instru- 
ments working  at  once  and  the  same  time.  And 
coinciding  and  supporting  Bill  musically  and 
morally,  Ole  Hen  Sauser,  pianofortissimo  of  the 
same  regiment  and  same  musical  inclination, 
started,  walking  up  and  down  the  black  and  white 
ivories  until  he  had  the  brown  box  rocking  and 
swaying  and  jazzing  like  eight  electric  pianos 
competing  for  movie  business  on  the  kerosene 
circuit. 

And  then  fully  forty  stalwart  young  soldiers, 
shined  and  polished,  clutched  maidens  all  fixed 
up  like  sailors'  brides  and  started  on  a   1918 


144       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

walk-glide-toddle-march  or  quickstep,  as  you 
choose.  Sergt.  Dan  turned  away  and  hung  his 
head  in  full  and  complete  disgust.  It  was  no 
place  for  an  old  soldier  whose  days  of  glory- 
dated  back  to  when  the  great  popular  indoor  and 
outdoor  sports  in  the  army  was  chewing  tobacco- 
days  when  "Annie  Laurie"  was  still  the  Army 
classic.  This,  he  felt  deep  in  his  heart,  might 
be  a  fighting  army,  but  it  was  a  jazz  tune  army 
that  had  never  heard  of  "On  the  Banks  of  the 
Wabash"  and  "Take  the  Wagon  Home,  John." 
It  was  not  for  him.  In  shame  and  anguish  he 
slowly  walked  away. 

But  inside  the  gay  recreation  room  Capt.  Bar- 
rett's dancing  soldiers,  chaperoned  by  a  half 
score  of  admiring  mothers,  were  having  one  of  the 
big  times  of  their  gay  young  lives.  At  6.30  the 
men  led  their  guests  into  the  mess  hall  and  gave 
them  a  great  heaping  army  meal.  And  around 
8  o'clock  they  marched  those  who  had  journeyed 
down  from  the  city  stationward  and  tucked 
them  on  board  the  last  train  for  home.  Then  a 
half  hour  later  the  young  ladies  from  Patchogue 
and  other  nearby  towns  were  bundled  into  cars 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  145 

and  shouted  happily  on  their  way.  And  let  it 
be  chronicled  that  a  bully  fine  time  was  had  by 
all. 

But  a  tea  and  lady  fight  wasn't  the  only  wild 
thing  that  happened  to  Camp  Upton  this  after- 
noon. Some  1,500  brand  new  selected  rookies 
arrived  on  three  special  trains,  and  instead  of 
getting  the  expected  and  certain  dreary  recep- 
tion, they  were  received  by  fully  2,500  laughing, 
happy,  welcoming  soldiers,  who  took  advantage 
of  the  afternoon  off  and  formed  an  amateur  wel- 
coming committee  down  at  Camp  Upton's  Grand 
Central. 

It  would  have  been  a  terrible  blow  to  some  of 
the  jolly  old  knockers  of  the  selected  service, 
who  are  badly  worried  finding  new  things  wrong 
with  the  National  Army  and  the  idea,  if  they 
could  have  watched  this  welcoming  this  after- 
noon. In  some  ways  it  was  like  opening  day 
around  a  college  town,  when  all  the  old  men 
gather  at  the  stations  and  watch  the  new  men 
flock  in.  These  three  months  old  soldiers,  with 
their  uniforms  and  certain  ways,  were  upper 
class  men  full  of  wisdom  and  army  bull. 


146      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

And  the  real  spirit  of  this  wonderful  Army 
of  Freedom  fairly  reeked  from  the  great  happy 
crowd.  A  score  of  races,  a  dozen  religions,  rich 
men,  poor  men,  honest  men,  ex-second  story- 
workers,  bankers,  clerks,  street  cleaners,  bond 
salesmen,  pants  makers,  but  all  soldiers  in  an 
American  army  now,  wearing  the  same  uniform 
and  drawing  the  same  $30  a  month — ^mixed  to- 
gether, brushing  elbows,  exchanging  views,  jokes, 
cigarettes  and  hearts,  and  developing  rapidly  a 
finished  composite  fighting  man  who  will  make 
the  name  National  Army  one  to  be  respected. 
And  these  1,500,  who  to-night  are  being  initiated 
in  the  first  degree  into  this  great  army,  surely 
felt  this  pulsing,  open,  smiling  welcome. 

The  National  Army  of  America  is  beginning 
to  find  itself. 

4.    Chevrons  Instead 

And  speaking  of  Shoulder  Straps  brings  one 
down  to  the  Officers'  Training  Schools  that 
opened  in  each  of  the  National  Army  canton- 
ments early  in  1918.  One  and  seven-tenths 
per  cent,  of  the  personnel  of  each  camp  was 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  147 

chosen  by  a  special  board  to  enter  the  three 
months  school,  with  the  understanding  that 
the  successful  graduates  were  to  be  placed  on  a 
reserve  list  of  available  Second  Lieutenants. 

But  for  all  the  lure  of  silver  and  gold  bars 
there  were  some  who  preferred  to  retain  their 
non-com.  chevrons  until  they  can  win  their  bars 
on  the  field  of  honour.  And  the  best  o'  luck  to 
them. 

A  square  built,  stocky  young  soldier  with  a 
first  sergeant's  chevrons  on  his  sleeves  stood  be- 
fore Capt.  C.  F.  Johnstone  in  the  orderly  room 
of  Company  F  of  the  306th  Infantry  on  the 
morning  before  the  school  opened  and  saluted 
with  a  snap. 

"Capt.  Johnstone,"  Sergt.  Edward  Seewald 
began,  "I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  recommend- 
ing me  for  the  oflScers'  training  school  and  for 
your  part  in  having  me  selected  as  a  candidate, 
but  I  guess  I  won't  accept  it.  I  think  I'll  just 
stay  right  on  here  with  you  and  the  company 
and  the  regiment." 

Capt.  Johnstone  had  difficulty  in  believing 
his  ears. 


148      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Why,  man,  don't  you  know  that  this  means 
you're  passing  up  a  chance  of  getting  a  com- 
mission?" he  finally  asked.  ''And  commis- 
sions don't  grow  on  scrub  oak  trees,  even  if 
this  is  war." 

The  sergeant  nodded  in  approval.  "I  ap- 
preciate that,"  he  went  on,  "but  I  guess  I'll 
take  my  chances  of  getting  mine  by  the  fighting 
route.  When  we  get  in  action  will  be  time 
enough  for  me,  and  in  the  meantime  I'll  be  thor- 
oughly learning  all  the  details  of  this  job.  I 
think  I'd  make  a  better  officer  in  the  long  run, 
and  my  chance  will  come  again  when  we  get 
over  there  and  into  the  trenches." 

"Well,  I'll  be  !"    and  Capt.  Johnstone 

broke  an  army  regulation  without  noting  it. 

"Then  there's  another  reason,"  First  Sergt, 
Seewald  continued.  "I  came  down  here  with 
the  rest  of  the  men  of  this  company  and  I've 
been  with  them  for  almost  four  months  now. 
I've  worked  with  you  and  the  other  officers, 
and — and  I  don't  want  to  leave.  All  my  pals 
are  here  in  F  Company,  and  I  don't  want  any 
other  officers,  and  you've  just  made  me  first 


SHOULDER  STRAPS  149 

sergeant  and  I  guess  I'll  just  stay  right  on  with 
my  job  and  let  the  others  go  to  the  officers' 
school." 

"Better  go  over  and  talk  with  Major  Bulger," 
Captain  Johnstone  suggested.  "Tell  him  just 
what  you've  told  me." 

So  the  top  sergeant  of  F  Company  trailed 
on  over  to  the  Second  Battalion  headquarters, 
and  in  the  same  straight-forward  way  told  his 
story  to  the  Major.  And  when  he  had  finished, 
the  battalion's  commanding  officer  likewise 
offered  up  a  forbidden  but  quite  necessary  word 
of  exclamation. 

"I'd  just  like  to  earn  my  commission  when 
we  get  across.  Wait  until  I  get  in  the  trenches 
and  then  you  can  tell  correctly  whether  I 
should  be  an  officer  or  not,"  the  non-com. 
announced. 

"We'll  speak  to  Col.  Vidmer  about  it,"  the 
Major  suggested.  So  in  the  course  of  the  day 
the  matter  was  taken  up  to  the  fighting  Colonel 
of  the  306th,  and  after  listening  carefully  to  the 
details  of  the  story  of  the  man  who  wanted  to 
win  his  commission  by  the  bayonet,  he  pro- 


150      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

nounced  it  a  bully  good  idea  and  gave  his  ap- 
proval. 

So  to-night  over  in  Company  F  of  the  306th 
Infantry  First  Sergt.  Seewald,  who  might  easily 
have  expected  a  Lieutenancy  in  April,  is  busy 
doing  his  company's  work.  But  now  and  then 
he  thinks  of  some  day,  possibly  in  April  too, 
when  in  a  muddy  front  line  fighting  trench  in 
France  another  chance  will  come  to  win  the 
coveted  gold  and  black  hat  cord  of  an  army 
officer.  And  among  the  250  men  and  officers  of 
Company  F  the  betting  is  all  in  his  favour. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR 

1— A  July  Day  In  '98 

THE  proudest  man  in  all  camp  tonight 
is  a  certain  sawed  off,  two  fisted,  fight- 
ing negro  cook  attached  to  Col.  J.  A. 
Moss's  "Buffaloes."  A  score  or  more  of  old 
ex-non-coms,  once  proud  members  of  the  Ninth 
and  Tenth  negro  cavalry,  but  now  commis- 
sioned officers  in  this  same  367th  Infantry, 
might  dispute  this  privilege,  but  the  evidence 
stands  strongly  against  them.  And  Col.  Roose- 
velt would  make  a  wonderful  witness  for  the  chef. 
To  the  last  seat  and  square  foot  of  standing 
room  the  Knights  of  Columbus  Hall  was  packed 
and  jammed  with  good  natured,  shouting, 
whistling,  singing  negro  doughboys  of  this  army 
of  freedom.  Under  the  leadership  of  Max 
Weinstein,  musical  director,  they  had  sung 
"America"  until  the  very  rafters  shook  with 

153 


154      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

applause.  Then  had  come  a  short  punchy, 
battle  speech  by  the  Colonel  reviewing  a  cer- 
tain hot  July  day  in  '98  when,  at  Las  Guasimas, 
the  fighting  Ninth  and  Tenth  Cavalry  had 
fought  one  on  each  side  of  another  famous  cav- 
alry outfit — the  Rough  Riders — commanded 
by  Col.  Leonard  Wood  and  a  certain  Lieutenant- 
Colonel,  who  afterward  became  President. 

And  then  had  come  "Old  Black  Joe,"  sung 
as  only  negro  soldiers  can  ever  possibly  sing  it. 
And  then  to  the  Colonel's  impulsive  and  charac- 
teristic demand  for  another  song  these  men  of 
the  National  Army  had  given  the  regiment's 
own  new  battle  song,  ''See  It  Through" — 
with  Private  George  Battle,  author  of  the  words 
and  music,  pounding  away  at  the  piano  and 
swaying  and  nodding  and  grinning  as  only 
Private  George  Battle  of  Moss's  Buffaloes  can 
possibly  sway  and  nod  and  grin. 

"If  there  are  any  men  of  the  old  Ninth  and 
Tenth  who  fought  alongside  of  me  in  Cuba  here, 
I  want  them  to  come  up  here  and  meet  me," 
the  Colonel  shouted  when  the  singing  was  fin- 
ished. 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  155 

And  so  up  trooped  a  double  score  of  ancient 
negro  fighting  men,  now  with  bars  on  their 
shoulder  straps  and  officers'  cords  about  their 
hats.  Single  file  they  passed  the  Colonel  and  to 
each  there  was  a  question  as  to  which  outfit  he 
belonged,  and  as  the  answer  came  a  big,  boom- 
ing "Fine!"  And  then  the  full  blooded,  man 
sized  handshake. 

And  then  the  proudest  man  in  Camp  Upton 
came  up — only  he  wasn't  that  at  this  particular 
moment.  There  were  no  silver  bars  on  his 
shoulder  straps;  in  fact,  he  didn't  have  any 
shoulder  straps  at  all,  and  what's  more,  he 
didn't  even  have  a  uniform — ^unless  you'd  call 
a  pair  of  castofi  "O.  D."  army  breeches  and  a 
pair  of  frayed  canvas  leggins  and  a  faded  yellow 
sweater  regulation.  And  he  shuffled  when  he 
walked  and  he  had  a  sort  of  bashful  grin  that 
made  Author  George  Battle  look  like  a  man 
with  a  grouch. 

"Well,  well!"  and  the  Colonel's  voice  broke 
as  this  strange  army  bird  ambled  up  to  him. 
"What's  your  name  and  where  were  you  in  '98.^ " 

The  reply  came  so  slow  that  no  one  but  the 


156      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Colonel  heard  it,  but  it  certainly  must  have  been 
full  of  memory  and  green  with  the  glory  of 
fighting  days.  For  the  big  man  who  wanted  to 
lead  a  division  to  France  crashed  his  arm  down 
on  this  shuffling,  dark  skinned  cook  and  patted 
his  back,  and  with  his  other  hand  he  shook  hands, 
and  for  a  half  minute  they  chatted  like  only  a 
pair  of  old  soldiers  can  chat. 

And  when  he  gave  him  the  final  pat  and  sent 
him  on  his  way,  the  man  who  had  served  his 
time  carrying  a  rifle  and  now  with  the  smoke  of 
battle  in  his  nostrils  had  come  back  to  cook  for 
the  boys  of  his  own  race  here  and  in  France — 
well,  the  old  bird  didn't  shuffle  out.  He  went 
out  with  shoulders  thrown  back  and  the  castoff 
army  breeches  and  the  frayed  army  leggins 
fairly  cranking  with  the  old  regulation  step — 
justly  the  proudest  man  in  camp. 

2 — ^White  Meat  for  Eddie 

But  there  are  other  famous  chefs  in  this 
swagger,  doggey  regiment  of  coloured  fighters. 
Ole  Bill  Harrison  is  but  a  case  in  point. 

Ole  Bill  was  chuckling — and  when  an  ancient 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  157 

darky  company  cook  stands  around  m  the  en- 
closed passageway  of  an  army  base  hospital 
and  chuckles  it's  worth  investigating. 

"See  'at  'er  boy  in  there?  "  Ole  Bill  whispered, 
pointing  through  the  cracks  in  a  half  opened 
door  at  a  grinning  negro  lad  dolled  up  in  a  blue 
and  white  hospital  bathrobe  and  lolling  back 
in  his  cot.  "  'At  boy  he's  all  fixed  out  foh 
Thanksgivin',  he  is.  See  him  grin — dat's  a 
Thanksgivin'  grin,  ain't  she,  boss.^" 

Chef  Bill  Harrison,  old,  wise,  and  the  best 
cook  in  all  company  I,  367th  Infantry,  negro — 
a  company  of  cooks  in  a  regiment  of  real  chefs 
— stopped  long  enough  to  chuckle  and  give  his 
large,  fat,  lazy  thigh  a  fine  resounding  slap. 

"One  hour  ago  'at  'er  boy  was  plum  discour- 
aged, he  was,"  Bill  went  on.  "'At  boy — ^his 
name  is  Private  Eddie  Brown  of  Company  I — 
he  went  an'  bruk  his  right  arm  this  mornin'  jes' 
before  he  was  leavin'  for  New  York  and  turkey. 
He  bruk  it  right  in  the  wrist  wrestlin'  wif  a 
fool  yellah  niggah — ^and  it  was  his  eatin'  arm. 
Yea,  sah,  he  bruk  his  eatin'  arm  jes'  when  he 
w^as  foh  goin'  to  New  York  an'  turkey." 


158      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Through  the  crack  in  the  ward  door  one  could 
see  Eddie,  still  wearing  the  same  grin,  reach 
carefully  down  to  the  side  of  his  bed  and  slowly 
bring  up  a  suspicious  looking  dark  bottle.  He 
swiftly  surveyed  the  ward  and  then  brought 
the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  drank  a  large  soldier 
sized  swig.  And  nineteen  pages  of  army  regu- 
lations were  apparently  blown  up,  shattered  and 
ruined  in  that  one  swig. 

"Look  at  'at  'er  boy  hit  'at  ole  bottle,  boss. 
He,  he  he — ^jes  look.  'At  what  done  it — 'at  ole 
bottle.  You  know,  I  got  thinkin'  bout  poor 
Eddie  over  heah  in  the  hospital  with  his  eatin' 
arm  bruk,  and  I  says  I'll  jes'  bring  'at  boy  a  little 
bottle  over  heah  and  cheer  him  up  a  bit. 

"Well,  when  I  first  come  in  'at  pooh  boy  was 
almost  cryin'  he  was.  He  felt  so  bad  he  was 
goin'  miss  turkey  and  not  goin'  to  the  city,  and 
I  says  *Lookey,  fool  niggah,  you  all  gwan  get 
turkey,  you  is.  Deys  goin'  feed  you  pooh  boys 
over  heah  turkey.  I  done  asked  an'  all  the  300 
boys  heah  in  this  hospital  'eys  goin'  get  turkey. 
Then  I  tole  Eddie  about  a  officah  tellin'  me  'er 
was  40,000  pounds  of  turkey  come  to  this  heah 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  159 

camp  an'  10,000  stocks  of  celery  and  17,600 
oranges,  an'  10,000  pounds  of  mince  meat  and 
14,000  pounds  of  nuts,  an'  'at  there  was  going 
to  be  enough  turkey  foh  every  doggone  soldier 
in  this  heah  camp,  including  the  pooh  boys  in 
the  hospital  what  kent  go  home  for  sickness, 
an'  likewise. 

"Eddie  he  perked  up  right  smart  then,  but  he 
kept  worrin'  and  worrin'  'bout  his  eatin'  arm. 
An'  I  said,  'Eddie,  you  jes'  eat  wif  youh  left  arm 
— ^maybe  you  lose  speed  and  control,  but  you  jes' 
keep  at  it,  and  you'll  get  'er  jes'  the  same,  an' 
then  you  boys  in  the  hospital  ain't  going  get 
nufin'  but  white  meat — 'ey  wouldn't  give  pooh 
sick  boys  nufin'  but  white  meat.  An'  I'll  come 
ovah  and  cut  it  foh  you. 

"Well,  Eddie,  he  was  feelin'  fine  than,  but  he 
kept  thinkin'  'bout  seein'  his  girl  in  New  York, 
and  then  I  springs  'at  er  beer  on  him.  Boss,  I 
hopes  I  get  struck  dead  right  here  in  my  verah 
tracks  if  it  wouldn't  make  the  watah  come  to 
youh  eyes  when  'at  er  pooh  little  black  boy  with 
his  eatin'  arm  all  bruk  seen  'at  bottle  of  beer." 

Bill   was    talking   with    a    gulp.      But    in    a 


160      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

second  his  very  own  copyright  chuckle  flopped 
back. 

"He  petted  'at  httle  pint  bottle  and  he  kissed 
it  and  he  said,  'Bill,  oh.  Bill,  this  is  goin'  be 
Thanksgivin'  after  all,  ain't  she.  Bill.  And,  Bill, 
I  bet  I  ken  eat  turkey  with  my  left  arm  nohow, 
kenti,  Bill,  kentl.^' 

"'Then  I  opened  Eddie's  bottle  foh  him  and 
tole  him  to  watch  out  foh  nurses,  and  then  I 
comes  on  out  where  I  ken  see.  Look  at  'at  boss, 
jes'  look!" 

Eddie  was  holding  the  little  brown  pint  bottle 
up  to  the  hght,  and  then  as  if  still  hopeful  lifted 
it  to  his  lips  for  a  final  drop.  But  it  was  not  any 
use — ^Eddie's  Thanksgiving  pint  was  dead. 

Bill  still  chuckled  softly  to  himself.  It  was 
what  you  might  call  a  Thanksgiving  chuckle. 

"An'  'at  'er  boy  he  is  nevah  goin'  to  find  out 
nothin' — ^nothin'  at  all  'but  that  pint.  He,  he, 
he,  he.  'At  boy  thinks  'at  was  real  beer,  he 
does,  jes  hke  I  would  give  a  colo'ud  soldier  real 
beer  under  no  circumstances.  Know  what, 
boss? 

"Well,  'at  'er  beer  is  temp'rance,  'an  you  buys 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  161 

it  right  down  heali  at  the  commissary  stoah,  you 
do.  An'  I  jes  brung  a  bottle  up  to  httle  Eddie 
and  I  don'  tell  him  nofin. 

"An'  'at  ain't  beer — say,  that  stuff  ain't  got 
no  authority  at  all,  at  all,  among  us  ole  Ameri- 
cans. But  it  has  wif  little  Eddie  and — look, 
look,  boss — see  'at  boy  grin.  Oh,  say,  man,  jes 
seen  him  grin.  Ain't  'at  fine,  boss — 'at  boy  jes 
grinnin'  an'  grinnin'  himself  most  to  death  in  a 
hospital  on  Thanksgivin'  even  wif  his  eatin'  arm 
all  bruk.     Ain't  't  fine,  boss.^" 

And  with  his  own  copyright  Thanksgiving 
chuckle  working  fine,  Ole  Bill  Harrison,  chef  and 
miracle  worker,  shuffled  on  down  the  long,  empty 
corridor. 

3 — ^Li'l  Ole  Eddie  Again 

Long  before  Christmas  Eddie's  eatin'  arm 
should  have  been  knit  well  and  strong.  But  it 
wasn't  and  as  a  consequence  the  day  of  days 
found  Eddie  still  tinkering  about  the  hospital. 

With  a  ripe  Christmas  grin  spreading  wide 
across  his  chocolate  dip  face,  Li'l  Ole  Eddie 


im      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

carefully  tucked  the  blanket  around  the  thin 
form  of  Private  Abie  Weinstein. 

"All  nice  and  warm,  you  poo'  sick  white  boy, 
'at's  a  'ole  way  Eddie  fixes  white  boys  all  sick  on 
Chris 'mas  Day,"  Eddie  pronounced  through  his 
grin.  "Know  what?  Well  I's  goin'  take  you 
poo'  sick  boy  for  a  long  ride  all  'round  this  hea' 
hosp'l,  'at  jes  what  I's  goin'  do." 

Eddie's  right  arm — ^his  eatin'  arm,  was  still 
hanging  helpless  in  a  hospital  sling.  But  Eddie 
had  no  trouble  tucking  Abie  all  nice  and  warm 
in  his  wheel  chair. 

"This  hea's  goin'  be  'bout  the  firs'  ride  you  all 
done  had  since  you  got  op'rated  on  foh — ^say, 
what  was  youh  complaint  any  way,  white  boy? 
Oh,  'pendicitis,  eh?  'At's  powerful  bad  thing 
for  a  solger  to  get  took  wif,  ain't  she?  But  you 
nevah  can  have  it  moah'n  once,  an'  when  you 
get  it  you  get  it  right.  'At's  where  it's  bettah 
'an  havin'  a  bruk  arm — ^you  got  two  arms  an' 
they  ken  get  bruk  every  Chris 'mas  in  'a  whole 
world  if  'ey  wants  to." 

Slowly  Eddie  rolled  his  new  white  soldier  pal 
out  of  the  rather  cheery  ward  to  the  long  silent 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  163 

corridors,  running  like  labyrinths  through  the 
maze  of  scores  of  buildings  that  make  up  this 
great  camp  base  hospital.  Quite  suddenly  he 
began  chuckhng  to  himself. 

*'For  what  are  you  making  a  laugh  for,  Eddie, 
tell  me?"  sounded  in  a  very  weak  voice  from 
the  wheel  chair. 

''Eh,  I  was  jes  thinkin'  'a  what  Ole  Bill,  my 
chef,  done  tole  me  the  las'  time  he  come  over 
heah  to  see  me.  He  was  speakin'  'bout  these 
heah  consc — conscien — ^these  heah  conspensi- 
ous  objectors.  An',  white  boy,  us  colo'd  folks 
get  'em  'er  things  jes  like  you  white  folks  got. 
Well,  Ole  Bill  he  said  'ey  had  one  of  'em  an-e- 
mals  in  his  colo'd  company  and  'is  heah  man 
he  come  up  to  the  Captain  an'  he  said:  'I  ain't 
goin'  carry  no  gun  and  shoot  nobody  wif,  mister, 
I  ain't,  I'm  plum  again'  'is  war  an'  I  ain't  goin' 
carry  no  gun  of  no  kind,  'I  ain't.* 

"An'  then  my  Captain  said  to  this  fool  niggah 
he  said,  'Youh  all  don'  have  to  shoot  no  gun, 
necessarily.  We  ain't  goin'  make  you  carry 
no  gun  or  kill  nobody,  no,  sir.  All  youh  goin' 
do  is  jes  go  'long  wif  us,  an'  we'll  take  you  over 


164      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

there  where  the  shootin'  is— an'  then  you  ken 
use  youh  own  jegment.'    He,  he,  he,  he." 

A  very  subdued  httle  laugh  came  from  the 
wheel  chair. 

Eddie  wheeled  on.  After  what  would  have 
been  three  or  four  of  Eddie's  own  beloved  Har- 
lem blocks  the  dark  boy,  with  his  eatin'  arm 
hung  carefully  in  his  sling,  pulled  up  in  a 
deserted  corridor.  His  left  hand  dived  deep 
into  the  pocket  of  his  blue  hospital  bath  robe, 
and  when  it  came  out  it  was  clutching  two  un- 
opened boxes  of  smokes. 

"Lookey  at  'at,  boy,"  he  whispered,  his  eyes 
sparkling  and  his  holiday  grin  spreading  until 
it  caught  his  ear  tips.  "'Is  heah  is  Christmas 
Day  and  some  lady  done  give  me  all  'em  cigar- 
ettes. Oh,  boy,  an'  me  an'  you  is  goin'  to  have  a 
beg  smoke  right  out  heah,  and  if  any  of  'em  'ere 
doctors  come  along  and  try  make  us  quit  smokin' 
li'l  ole  Eddie  is  goin'  try  some  army  jawbone. 
And,  boy,  one  of  'em  packages  is  foh  you.  Jes 
take  one.     'Is  is  Chris'mas,  boy." 

Abie  hesitated.  A  white,  thin  hand  reached 
out  and  then  drew  back. 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  165 

"'Chris 'mas  don't  got  nothing  to  do  with  me, 
Eddie,"  the  sick  soldier  boy  pronounced  slowly. 
"I  don't  get  something  for  Chris'mas  never." 

"Listen,  white  boy,  Chris'mas  is  Chris'mas 
an'  cigarettes  is  cigarettes,  and  us  'Mericans  is 
us  'Mericans.  Ask  me,  ain't  yah  in  this  heah 
army,  ain't  yah.^  An'  ain't  soldiers  got  a  right 
foh  to  have  smokin'  on  Chris'mas.^  Dis  heah 
box  is  you's,  white  boy,  and  you  take  out  one 
of  'em  'er  cigarettes  and  put  it  right  in  youh 
mouf  and  'en  you  get  one  out  of  'is  ofer  package 
and  give  her  to  me  an'  we's  goin'  have  a  fine  ole 
smoke." 

So  Abie,  working  his  white  fingers,  opened 
the  two  packages,  and  in  half  a  dozen  seconds 
Eddie  had  fished  out  a  box  of  matches  with  his 
present  eatin'  hand,  and  there  was  gay  old 
puffing  away  by  the  pair. 

But  it  was  short  lived.  Down  the  curve  in 
the  corridor  the  sound  of  footsteps  echoed 
plainly.  Eddie  hid  his  lighted  smoke  in  the 
hollow  of  his  dark  hand,  while  Abie  let  his  own 
hand,  holding  its  precious  weight,  fall  over  the 
side  of  his  wheel  chair. 


166      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Then  around  the  corner  came  two  ladies  from 
the  Hostess  House,  and  each  was  carrying  a 
heaping  load  of  packages. 

*' Merry  Christmas,  boys,"  both  smiled.  *'Tell 
me,  have  you  been  given  a  Christmas  kit  this 
morning.?"    one  asked. 

"No,  sir;  I  mean  no,  ma'm,  I  ain't  got  no 
kit  yet."  Eddie  grinned.  "We  ain't  got  nofin 
give  to  us  yet." 

So  without  further  fuss  one  of  the  ladies 
handed  to  both  Eddie  and  his  patient  a  httle 
package  wrapped  and  tied  with  Christmas  rib- 
bon and  paper.  And  while  they  passed  on  down 
in  their  triumphant  tour  Eddie  had  Abie  open 
their  bundles. 

"Foh  Ian'  sake,  lookey  at  'at  'er  pipe  and  two 
packages  of  smokes — an'  candy — Lord  Kvin' !  And 
some  needles  and  buttons  and  everything.  Gee, 
ain't  youh  all  glad  you'se 'Merican,  white  boy.^^" 

And  poor,  tired  Abie  on  his  first  ride  in  ten 
days  let  his  head  rest  on  the  comfort  softened 
back  of  his  wheel  chair  and  smiled  a  very  wan 
little  smile. 

"Yes,  in-deed,  Abie;   yes,  in-deed." 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  167 

4 — ^JusT  Inspection 

Eddie  and  Smilax  Peters  would  have  made 
great  pals  out  at  the  base  hospital — ^but  the 
War  Gods  decreed  that  each  should  have  a 
white  soldier  for  his  comrade  at  arms.  After  all 
sick  wards  are  the  real  levelers  and  fortunately 
this  great  Army  of  Freedom  is  pretty  much 
color  blind,  too. 

The  white  boy  had  to  lie  very  quiet  and  very 
still  and  he  was  so  awfully  tired  doing  it.  For 
almost  three  weeks  he  had  been  on  this  same 
white  covered  enamel  bed  in  ward  D2  of  the 
base  hospital — ^three  weeks  that  seemed  like 
three  years. 

"Maybe  'ey'll  have  chicken  to-night,  white 
boy,"  Smilax  Peters  remarked  in  a  cheery  tone, 
his  long  row  of  pearly  white  teeth  lighting  up 
his  chocolate  face  in  a  smile.  "Maybe  'ey  will, 
boy,  and  then  you  all  ken  jes'  eat,  'n  eat,  'n  eat." 

"Why  can't  I  hurry  up  and  get  out  of  here?" 
Denny  McCarthy  questioned  in  a  low  pitched, 
nervous  voice.  "I  don't  want  any  chicken  or 
anything  to  eat.    I  just  want  to  get  well." 


168      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Private  Smilax  Peters,  whose  case  of  laryngitis 
was  sufficiently  cured  for  Smilax  to  be  arrayed 
in  a  long,  light  blue  bathrobe  and  act  as  volunteer 
comforter  and  water  fetcher  for  the  patients  of 
D2,  patted  the  folds  of  Denny's  white  coverlet. 

"Now  don't  you  get  yo'  seff  all  het  up,  Uttle 
white  soger  boy,"  he  said,  "kase  'at  makes  yo' 
fevah  come  up  right  fast  and  then  you  all  'd  have 
to  take  'at  medicine.  You  all  is  goin'  to  get  out 
of  heah  one  of  dese  heah  fine  days  nohow  and 
then  'at'll  be  all  fine  and  honkeydora.  About 
nex'  week,  'at's  what  I  think,  you  poor  httle 
white  boy,  you." 

Denny's  thin  white  face  tossed  from  one  side 
of  his  pillow  to  the  other.  He  had  heard  all  this 
a  score  of  times.  And  he  was  tired  to  death 
now  and  he  wanted  to  get  back  to  his  pals  over 
in  Company  D  of  the  304th  Machine  Gun 
Battalion.  Not  that  the  hospital  had  not  been 
fine  to  him  and  his  own  ward  nurse  a  dear  old 
peach,  but  three  weeks  is  a  long  time  to  have  to 
lie  quiet  after  an  appendicitis  operation. 

"I  wanta  get  well  and  be  sent  back  with  the 
boys,"  he  half  muttered. 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  169 

And  then  the  great  double  glass  doors  that 
opened  into  the  ward  were  softly  swung  back 
and  a  slender,  middle  aged  man  with  a  silver 
star  on  each  shoulder  strap  and  a  warm  smile 
stepped  into  the  long,  cot  lined  room.  Behind 
him  came  Col.  Reynolds,  division  surgeon,  and 
then  a  small  staff  of  medical  officers  and  aides. 

The  colored  boy  quickly  rose  to  his  feet  and 
saluted.  Denny,  turning  his  head  and  catching 
a  glimpse  of  his  visitors,  tried  to  rise  to  a  sitting 
position  while  his  thin  right  hand  touched  his 
forehead  in  salute. 

"Well,  well,"  the  General  said  in  a  friendly, 
cheery  tone.  "Everything  looks  neat  and  clean 
here." 

Then  his  eye  caught  Denny  as  he  half  rose 
on  his  pillow  in  salute. 

"That's  all  right,  my  boy,"  he  said  with  a 
smile.  "Guess  you've  had  a  pretty  long  grind, 
haven't  you.^" 

A  nurse  with  a  red  cross  on  her  white  bonnet 
— ^the  nurse  who  had  been  so  gentle  and  confid- 
ing all  these  weeks — ^whispered  the  history  of  the 
case  while  the  General  hstened  with  deep  interest. 


170      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"TJgh,  well  you  certainly  have  had  a  tough 
time  of  it.  But  I  guess  you'll  be  out  of  here  and 
back  with  your  company  before  long." 

The  man  with  the  star  on  his  shoulder  straps 
reached  out  a  hand  and  gripped  the  thin  hand 
of  Denny. 

"I'm  General  Johnson — and — ^and  I  know 
you'll  be  out  soon.  The  best  of 
luck  to  you,  my  boy." 

Denny  tried  to  sputter  out  a 
word  of  thanks  and  then  when 
that  failed  he  tried  to  salute. 
But  it  wasn't  much  use.  Long 
before  either  was  successful  the 
man  with  the  friendly  smile  had 
turned  and  passed  on  out  of  the 
long  room.  And  all  that  Denny, 
weak  and  tired,  could  do  was  to  let  his  eyes  fill 
with  big  tears  that  rolled  down  his  white  cheeks 
to  the  pillow. 

A  half  minute  passed  before  the  ward  snapped 
back  to  its  normal  state.  And  then  it  was 
Smilax  Peters  of  the  big  smile  and  the  chocolate 
colour  who  really  broke  the  silence. 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  171 

"Say,  white  boy,  did  yo'  heah  what  'at 
Captain  done  said  'bout  you  gettin'  out  of  heah 
soon?"  he  half  whispered.  "'At  white  Cap, 
he  said  yo'  was  goin'  right  soon,  'at's  what  he 
said." 

Denny  tried  to  smile.  It  was  a  wan  and  gentle 
and  very  tired  little  smile,  but  it  was  a  real 
smile  just  the  same. 

"I  heard  him,  Smilax,"  he  whispered  slowly. 
"Next  week,  he  said — General  Johnson  said." 

Then  Denny  turned  his  head  with  the  tears 
and  the  smile  and  closed  his  eyes.  He  was  happy 
even  if  he  was  tired  out. 

5— Denny  Gets  To  Go  After  Ali, 

It  was  the  following  week  that  word  spread 
about  the  great,  echoing  halls  and  wards  that 
there  was  to  be  a  real  play,  with  real  imported 
stars  all  for  the  hospital  folks — and  best  of  all 
it  was  to  be  absolutely  free.  And  so  it  was  that 
the  grand  scramble  for  wheel  chairs  came  off. 

"Gee,  I  wish  I  could  go,"  little  Denny  half 
whispered  to  a  couple  of  his  walking  pals  who 


172      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

were  well  enough  to  shuffle  up  and  down  the 
ward  and  travel  the  long  corridors. 

"Ain't  no  more  of  'em  wheel  chairs,  Denny," 
Smilax  answered.  "Guess  them  early  birds 
copped  'em  all  off." 

"Wish  I  had  one,"  Denny  went  on.  "I 
haven't  ever  seen  any  hospital  show  yet — ^not  in 
three  weeks." 

Smilax  took  the  glass  of  water  from  Denny 
and  then  commandeered  all  his  faculties  to  some 
hard  thinking.  "Don'  youh  all  go  worrin' 
youhself  sick,  li'l  ole  white  boy,  kase  Smilax  is 
goin'  see  what  he  ken  do,"  he  announced, 
turning  toward  the  big  double  doors  leading 
out  from  the  ward  room. 

Denny  fussed  around  in  his  cot,  swinging  his 
thin  legs  over  the  edge,  nervous  and  half  heart- 
broken in  his  lonesomeness.  Three  weeks  is  a 
long  time  to  be  tied  to  a  white  army  cot  in  a 
hospital  ward — no  matter  how  friendly  the  boys 
may  be  or  how  sweet  the  nurses. 

Probably  ten  minutes  slipped  by  and  then 
the  doors  opened  and  a  wheeled  operating  table 
poked  its  nose  into  the  room.     And  behind  it 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  173 

plodded  Smilax,  with  a  great  smile  spreading 
across  his  chocolate  face. 

"Climb  on  heah,  li'l  ole  white  boy,  and  we'll 
see  that  'er  old  show  yet,"  he  almost  shouted. 
"Climb  on." 

For  a  half  dozen  seconds  Denny  was  speech- 
less and  then  without  a  word  he  pushed  his  feet 
into  his  cloth  slippers,  swung  into  his  pale  blue 
hospital  dressing  'gown  and  tried  to  climb  on 
the  high  wheeled  table.  But  he  couldn't  make 
it. 

"WTioa  there,  white  boy — ^jes'  a  minute," 
Smilax  cautioned.  "I'll  help  the  ole  boy  on. 
'Er,  now  you  go.  Heah,  I'll  lift  'em  'er  legs  of 
your'n;  they  don't  weigh  much  of  nufin'.  'Er 
we  is  now.      All  aboard!  Toot-toot!" 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  big  smile  to  the 
boys  who  could  not  go  Smilax  started  with  his 
burden  down  the  long  wheel  to  the  mess  hall. 
But  this  was  only  a  starter,  for  when  he  did 
reach  the  doors  to  the  big  room  he  found  it 
jammed  with  300  or  400  other  boys  in  blue 
robes,  laughing,  joking  and  exchanging  sick 
data.    But  that  did  not  feaze  Smilax. 


174      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"One  side  'er,"  he  shouted,  and  bullied  and 
ordered  and  begged.  "One  side  foh  de  Colonel! 
Come  on,  you  white  trash  sogers,  let  the 
wounded  in  first." 

And  finally  Smilax  got  his  charge  to  the  very 
front  and  even  won  a  seat  to  boot.  All  around 
him  were  wheel  chairs  and  behind  stretched  the 
rows  of  mess  tables  and  benches  crowded  full  of 
sick  boys  hungry  for  music  and  smiles  and 
entertainment. 

It  was  a  wonderful  audience  to  play  to,  and 
it  did  not  make  the  slightest  difference  to  Grace 
Hazzard  or  William  Williams  or  the  others  who 
came  down  from  the  city  to  make  these  sick 
boys  happy  for  a  night,  because  there  was  no 
stage  and  no  curtain  and  no  entrances.  Where 
they  should  have  had  snow  covered  mountains 
of  southern  California  as  a  setting,  white  bed 
screens  had  to  do. 

And  Denny  did  not  mind  it  in  the  least  either. 
All  he  thought  of  was  what  a  bully  little  play 
"Cousin  Eleanor"  was  and  how  fine  it  had  been 
of  Mrs.  Ruth  Litt  to  have  made  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  it  and  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  give  their 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  175 

help  and  what  a  change  it  was  from  the  long, 
tiresome,  gray  hours  in  a  ward. 

And  so  these  boys  laughed  and  clapped  and 
shouted  for  more,  and  when  it  was  all  over  and 
the  slow  shuffling  procession  was  led  off  with 
those  who  could  walk  and  followed  by  those 
who  rode  in  wheel  chairs,  with  little  Denny  on 
his  operating  table  way  back  in  the  rear,  there 
was  more  real  happiness  around  these  great, 
silent  acres  of  hospital  buildings  than  there  had 
ever  been  before. 

Tired  little  Denny  had  big  tears  in  his  eyes 
when  he  tried  to  thank  Smilax  for  his  wonder- 
ful evening.  And  his  voice  faltered  so  that  he 
could  not  finish. 

"  'At's  all  right,  ole  boy,"  Smilax  spoke  up, 
right  gruff-like  ''  'At's  all  right.  Say,  weren't 
she  a  peach,  'at  Cousin  Eleanor — 'at  Miss — ^Miss— 
what's-'er-name?   Oh,  boy,  weren't  she  a  peach  ? " 

6 — ^W^HEN  THE  War  Gods  Pull  the  Strings 

All  in  all  probably  war's  greatest  miracles 
have  been  worked  among  these  same  coloured 
soldiers  in  this  great  National  Arm}^ 


176       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Ten  thousand  white  officers  have  won  long 
delayed  jumps  in  pay  and  rank  and  10,000  more 
fine,  gallant  old  non-coms  have  come  into  their 
own  these  last  few  months,  but  it's  the  men  who 
never  had  a  chance  before  and  never  could  have 
had  a  chance — the  brave,  fighting,  trained  top 
sergeants  and  old  sergeants  major  of  the  army's 
negro  regiments — ^that  have  this  war  to  thank 
most. 

One  day  early  in  July  nineteen  years  ago  in 
front  of  San  Juan  Hill  a  dashing  young  Second 
Lieutenant  of  the  Twenty -fifth  Infantry  won  a 
First  Lieutenant's  commission  and  was  assigned 
to  the  Twenty-fourth  Infantry.  He  had  done 
some  hard  bits  of  fighting  with  the  Twenty- 
fifth,  but  when  he  joined  his  new  regiment  he 
found  that  it  too  had  covered  itself  with  glory 
facing  Spanish  Mausers. 

In  this  new  company  of  the  First  Lieutenant 
was  a  young  negro  corporal  who  had  come  into 
the  army  a  clean,  upstanding  lad  only  a  few 
months  before,  and  on  the  day  of  sailing  out  of 
Tampa  for  the  front  had  been  made  a  corporal. 
A  year  later,  almost  to  a  day,  just  before  board- 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  177 

ing  ship  fron  San  Francisco  for  the  Phihppine 
Islands  to  help  put  down  the  insurrection,  Cor- 
poral Walter  B.  Williams  was  given  a  battalion 
sergeant  major's  chevrons. 

Then  had  come  a  long,  hard  campaign  in 
northern  Luzon  with  Gen.  Sam  Young's  famous 
"flying  brigade."  In  command  of  Company  I 
was  First  Lieutenant  James  A.  Moss  and  on  the 
staff  as  Adjutant-General  was  First  Lieutenant 
E.  B.  Cassatt,  with  the  rank  of  Major  of  Vol- 
unteers. 

At  Tayug  the  expedition  had  met  Major- 
Gen.  Henry  W.  Lawton,  and  there  the  second 
Battalion  of  the  Twenty -fourth  Infantry,  con- 
sisting of  225  men  and  104  native  scouts  under 
Capt.  Joseph  B.  Batchelor,  Jr.,  was  ordered 
across  the  Argo  Mountains.  They  were  to  in- 
tercept Aguinaldo  and  break  the  backbone  of 
the  revolution.  That  was  on  November  15, 
1899,  and  on  December  23  the  outfit  reached 
Lallec  on  the  Cagayon  River  and  hungry,  ragged 
and  sick  met  the  United  States  gunboat  Helena, 
under  Capt.  Moore.  It  was  a  foot  sore  and  be- 
draggled little  outfit,  but  their  thirty-eight  days 


178      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

record  march  helped  force  the  surrender  of  the 
native  Gen.  Canon  and  Gen.  Terona's  Cayagon 
battahon — ^the  pride  of  Aguinaldo's  army — 
and  the  capture  of  Tuguegaria  with  the  hbera- 
tion  of  1,500  Spanish  prisoners. 

And  all  during  this  fine  fighting  campaign  a 
certain  Colonel,  J.  Franklin  Bell,  with  his 
"suicide  regiment,"  the  famous  Thirty-sixth 
United  States  Volunteers,  along  with  a  certain 
Captain  of  volunteers,  E.  E.  Booth,  was  clean- 
ing up  the  country  south  and  west  of  San  Fer- 
nando, Pampanga. 

Back  finally  at  Tayug,  in  the  province  of 
Pangasinan,  the  Twenty-fourth  foregathered 
and  rested  a  bit  on  its  laurels. 

Soon  a  young  Lieutenant,  James  A.  Moss, 
was  made  regimental  adjutant.  And  about 
the  same  time  a  certain  old  soldier,  Sergeant- 
Major  Green,  having  gone  back  to  the  States 
on  an  extended  leave,  the  new  regimental 
adjutant  promoted  his  battalion  Sergeant-Ma j or, 
^Walter  B.  Williams,  to  be  regimental  sergeant- 
major.  Then  three  months  later  when  the  old 
sergeant-major  returned  he  found  his  place  filled 


SOME  LOCAL  COLOUR  179 

and  little  chance  of  regaining  it.  So  in  a  jBne 
huff  at  both  his  successor  and  the  regimental 
adjutant  old  Sergeant  Green  had  himself  trans- 
ferred to  the  sister  Twenty-fifth  as  sergeant- 
major. 

And  slowly  the  wheels  of  the  army  gods 
ground  on,  and  in  time  Sergeant-Ma j or  Green 
had  done  his  thirty  years  and  retired  on  a  com- 
fortable $70  pension.  And  all  the  time  Sergeant- 
Ma  j  or  Williams  kept  his  old  place  with  the 
Twenty-fourth,  and  one  day  six  or  seven  years 
ago,  when  there  was  a  vacancy  in  the  semi- 
official post  of  regimental  exchange  steward — 
which  is  a  fancy  army  name  for  storekeeper  and 
carries  with  it  a  welcome  salary  of  $120  a  month 
— ^Williams,  remembering  his  old  friend  Green, 
sent  for  him. 

And  while  the  army  gods  who  look  after  the 
negro  soldiers  were  busy  with  their  grist  the 
army  gods  who  watch  over  the  destiny  of  white 
officers  saw  to  it  that  regimental  Adjt.  Moss 
became  a  captain.  All  in  all,  he  has  served 
fourteen  years  on  the  rolls  of  the  Twenty-fourth. 
Some  of  these  years  it  was  detached  service. 


180      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

but  always  on  the  collar  insignia  of  his  uniform 
was  the  crossed  guns  of  the  infantry  and  the 
marking  "24." 

Then  in  1912,  at  Madison  barracks,  this  Cap- 
tain was  assigned  to  the  Twenty-ninth  Infantry. 
And  when  he  said  good-by  to  his  old  regimental 
Sergeant-Ma j or  it  was  as  certain  as  army  pay 
that  the  negro  soldier  with  his  three  service  rib- 
bons would  finish  out  his  time  and  one  day 
retire  on  his  $70  pension. 

When  the  Twenty-ninth  Infantry  went  to 
Panama  two  or  three  years  ago  Moss  went 
along,  but  in  August  of  this  year,  when  the  plans 
of  the  National  Army  had  been  perfected  and  it 
had  been  decided  to  form  a  complete  separate 
division  of  negro  troops  officered  with  white 
field  officers  but  with  negro  company  com- 
manders and  junior  officers,  the  then  Major 
Moss  was  called  back  and  made  Colonel  of  the 
367th,  at  Camp  Upton. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  he  did  was  to 
wire  to  his  old  regimental  Sergeant  at  the  negro 
officers'  training  camp  at  Des  Moines,  la.,  and 
ask  him  if  he  wanted  to  serve  under  him.    And 


so:me  local  colour        isi 

the  war  tried  old  soldier  remembered.  His  mind 
went  back  to  divers  and  smidry  fighting  days  in 
Cuba  and  the  Philippines,  when  a  dashing  young 
Lieutenant  had  plugged  them  alongside  of  him. 
And  remembering,  further,  many  peaceful  years 
when  as  Sergeant-Major  he  had  been  at  least 
left  hand  man  to  this  same  officer  serving  as 
regimental  Adjutant  he  promptly  turned  down 
two  other  requests.  With  a  Captain's  commis- 
sion he  came  on. 

So  it  was  that  Capt.  Walter  B.  Williams,  rank- 
ing enlisted  man  and  non-com.  of  the  whole 
United  States  Regulars,  white  or  black,  with  but 
two  years  to  finish  out  his  thirty  years  of  ser- 
vice, returned  to  serve  under  his  old  commander. 
The  first  official  job  he  did  was  to  suggest  that 
another  old  timer,  long  retired  Sergeant-Major 
Green,  be  given  the  job  of  regimental  exchange 
steward,  with  its  $120  a  month.  So  that  night 
a  wire  went  to  Columbus,  N.  M.,  to  the  exchange 
steward  of  the  Twenty-fourth  Infantry  offering 
him  the  job. 

And  he  took  it,  and  the  other  day  around  the 
headquarters  of  Moss's  buffalos — the  swaggerest 


18^      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

negro  outfit  in  the  National  Army,  with  a  coat  of 
arms,  swagger  sticks,  welfare  league,  embossed 
stationary,and  the  fightenest  coloured  gents  that 
ever  came  out  of  Harlem — ^well,  over  at  Moss's 
buffaloes  there  was  quite  a  little  family  reunion. 
War  surely  does  play  some  mighty  strange 
tricks. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
SOME  THEY  TOOK   WHILE  OTHERS  FAILED 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
SOME  THEY  TOOK  WHILE  OTHERS  FAILED 

1 — But  the  Doctors  Said  ''No" 

SOME  there  are  who  still  hold  that  there  is- 
little  real  battle  patriotism  in  America. 
To  such  of  these  as  are  not  too  blind  to 
read  let  the  story  of  Johnny  McGinn,  son  of 
famous  old  Joe  McGinn  of  the  A.  P.,  stand  as  a 
4:urning  point  in  their  own  patriotism.  And  to 
another  few  w^ho  claim  that  war  is  decadent  and 
besides  human  life  and  treasure  demands  such 
virtues  as  honour  let  this  tale  sink  in  deep.  And 
let  them  both  remember  that  in  America's 
armed  forces  to-day  there  are  ten  times  ten 
thousand  with  the  spirit  of  Johnny  McGinn. 

Capt.  H.  H.  Lawson  of  the  outpost  company 
of  the  302d  Field  Signal  Battalion  had  finished 
his  long  lecture  on  the  Articles  of  War  and 
swung  into  a  general  talk  on   army  matters, 

185 


186      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

duties,  punishment,  esprit  de  corps  dress,  honour, 
and  a  score  of  other  things,  that  ended  with 
placing  the  selected  men  squarely  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  the  volunteers. 

*'Some  of  you  men  in  this  outfit  came  down 
here  as  volunteers  in  the  Signal  Reserve  Corps," 
he  declared  in  this  October  talk.  "I  want  you 
to  know  that  from  this  moment  on  you  are  all 
members  of  the  United  States  Army,  that  you 
rank  equally,  and  only  exactly  equally,  with  the 
men  who  were  selected  by  the  Government  and 
assigned  to  this  command. 

"And  to  you  both  let  it  be  impressed  that  in 
all  your  dealings  with  the  Government  you  be 
absolutely  honest  about  everything.  If  there  is 
a  single  man  in  this  command  who  committed 
even  the  slightest  deception  in  getting  here, 
either  selected  man  or  volunteer,  it  would  reflect 
dangerously  on  me.  It  might  grieviously  hurt 
the  reputation  of  the  whole  command." 

An  hour  later  to  his  office  in  the  company  bar- 
racks there  came  Private  Johnny  McGinn. 
"'Captain,"  he  said,  "you've  been  so  decent  and 
white  to  me  since  I  came  down  here  October  6, 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  187 

that  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  something.  I 
wouldn't  hurt  the  reputation  of  this  company 
for  anything  in  the  world,  and  so  just  to  make 
sure  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  this  thing — ^I 
hope  it  won't  make  any  difference." 

Then  came  the  story  of  the  boy  who  tried  and 
failed  and  then  tried  again  and  again  for  seven 
times,  and  failed  each  time,  and  then  finally  told 
a  great  white  lie  in  order  to  serve  with  his 
country's  colours. 

Soon  there  will  come  floating  back  from  a  far 
away  front,  from  overseas  and  a  strange  land 
of  mud  and  death  and  sacrifice  and  honour,  a 
thousand  and  one  brave  tales  of  gallant  lads 
who  died  that  the  millions  back  home  might  be 
safe  and  a  tardy  nation  made  secure.  But  if 
this  simple,  unstained  story  of  this  boy  who 
wanted  so  hard  to  do  his  bit  and  to  follow  The 
Great  Adventure — unadorned  though  it  is  by 
the  glory  of  battle  and  the  blaze  of  star  shells — 
if  the  words  that  he  spoke  and  the  tears  that 
came  into  his  eyes — ^the  weak  eyes  that  kept 
him  out  and  back — ^could  be  put  on  ink  and 
paper   he   would   be  ranked   as   true  a  son  of 


188      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

America  as  those  who  make  the  final  sacrifice 
itself. 

On  April  16,  1912,  John  G.  McGinn  was 
honourably  discharged  from  the  Ninth  Coast 
Defence  command,  N.  Y.  N.  G.,  after  a  record 
of  four  and  a  half  years  of  service.  In  June, 
four  years  later,  when  the  Mexican  teapot 
tempest  was  boiling  over,  McGinn  hurried 
back  to  his  old  command  and  tried  to  reenlist, 
but  was  rejected  on  account  of  defective  vision. 
Just  one  year  later,  on  June  7,  1917,  with  Amer- 
ica in  the  great  war,  he  tried  the  United  States 
Navy,  but  his  old  eye  trouble  kept  him  out. 

Then  came  a  whirl  at  the  naval  reserve,  and 
there  by  some  queer  turn  of  army  fate,  he  passed 
and  actually  enlisted.  But  his  happiness  was 
short  lived.  Two  weeks  after  his  enlistment  it 
was  discovered  during  wigwag  signal  practice 
that  he  could  not  read  the  flags.  A  reexamina- 
tion was  ordered  and  he  was  flatly  rejected. 
Then  came  his  chance  with  the  selected  service, 
and  with  high  hopes  Johnny  McGinn  went  be- 
fore local  Board  23  on  August  4. 

The    surgeons    discovered   his   eye   weakness 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  189 

and  he  was  compelled  to  accept  a  certificate  of 
discharge.  Discouraged,  but  far  from  beaten, 
he  now  retackled  the  National  Guard.  The 
first  two  organizations  flatly  refused  to  ex- 
amine him  when  he  reported  truthfully  that 
his  age  was  28.  No  man  within  the  selected 
service  age  could  at  that  time  enlist. 

Then  in  desperation  he  tried  the  Seventy- 
first  New  York  and  the  old  Sixty-ninth,  and  by 
representing  that  his  age  was  32  years  and  2 
months  he  was  examined.  Rejection  on  account 
of  defective  vision  followed  with  both  outfits. 
That  made  seven  times  that  he  had  tried  to  en- 
list and  been  turned  down.  The  same  day  he 
met  an  acquaintance,  who  told  him  that  the 
United  States  Reserve  Signal  Corps  was  still 
enlisting  men  in  Brooklyn,  and  that  he  might 
try  there.  And  together  they  hatched  up  the 
great  plot  against  the  army  regulations  of  the 
United  States  Government. 

McGinn,  it  was  decided,  should  learn  by 
heart  the  eye  chart  so  that  he  could  run  through 
it  without  a  hitch  when  the  fatal  eye  examination 
came.     Three  hours  later,  with  the  line  of  let- 


190       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

ters  fairly  singing  through  his  brain,  McGinn 
entered  the  signal  corps  recruiting  station.  Two 
hours  later  he  had  passed  the  full  examination 
and  was  a  member  in  good  standing  of  Uncle 
Sam's  fighting  forces.  That  was  on  September 
12,  and  on  October  6  McGinn  reported  at  Camp 
Upton.  Exactly  eleven  days  later  Capt.  Law^son 
delivered  his  lecture  and  that  afternoon  it  was 
McGinn  who  told  all  this  to  his  company  com- 
mander. 

"I  lied  to  get  in,  and  I  want  to  serve,  Captain, 
but  you've  been  so  decent  to  us  all  that  I  don't 
want  to  have  anything  reflect  on  you  or  your 
company,"  the  young  soldier  closed  his  con- 
fession. 

Capt.  Lawson  hesitated  a  long  time — ^but  army- 
rules  are  army  rules,  so  that  in  the  end  the  case 
had  to  go  up  to  the  powers  that  be  at  head- 
quarters, where  all  the  things  finally  pass  before 
a  kindly,  wise  old  soldier  with  stars  on  his 
shoulder  straps.  And  there,  too,  they  hesitated 
a  long  time,  but  there,  too,  army  rules  are  army 
rules,  and  although  Capt.  Lawson  had  pleaded 
as  strongly  as  army  papers  allow  one  to  plead. 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  191 

all  that  could  be  done  was  an  order  for  a  com- 
plete new  physical  examination  of  Private 
McGinn. 

And  Johnny  McGinn  failed.  Then  out  of  a 
generous  heart  the  army  unbended  and  ordered 
a  second  examination.  And  again  Johnny 
McGinn  failed.  And  last  night  a  young  man 
stood  before  his  Captain  with  tears  streaming 
down  his  cheeks,  but  a  smile  forced  to  his  lips. 
For  nine  weeks  he  had  been  a  soldier,  and  now 
it  was  to  end.  For  nine  weeks  he  had  been 
company  odd  job  man,  loyal,  happy  and  con- 
tented, although  his  case  having  been  un- 
decided he  had  never  been  given  a  uniform  and 
had  never  been  on  a  pass  and  his  tasks  had  been 
only  the  menial  ones  that  often  are  given  out 
for  light  punishment. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry,  McGinn,"  the  Captain 
solemnly  pronounced,  gripping  the  hand  of  the 
man  who  had  tried  so  hard  to  be  a  soldier. 

"That's  all  right.  Captain,"  the  man  smiled 
back.  "I  want  to  keep  up  my  Liberty  bonds 
I  took  out — ^I'U  send  you  the  money  each  month. 
And   say,   I'll  meet  you   'over  there' — ^I'll  be 


192      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

there  when  you  get  over.  I'll  keep  on  trying — 
even  to  the  Ambulance  Corps.  I'll  be  there. 
Goodby." 

And  Johnny  McGinn,  one  time  soldier  but 
now  civilian  hero,  saluted  and  went  out  of  the 
room,  through  the  barrack  and  took  up  the  long 
hike  to  the  station. 

2— "Hed"  W.  W. 

And  Johnny  McGinn  will  not  be  alone. 
Others  there  are  who  have  had  to  fight  for  the 
chance  to  fight.  And  maybe  in  the  same  silent 
grey  boat  that  takes  Johnny  over  there  also  will 
ride  Red-W.  W. — and  Red  will  make  a  won- 
derful pal  for  Johnny. 

Red  Chester,  very  much  unattached  and  quite 
unofficial  member  of  the  staff  of  Major  Bozeman 
Bulger,  Second  Battalion  306th  Infantry,  Na- 
tional Army  of  Freedom,  left  to-day  for  the 
front.  In  the  left  hand  pocket  of  the  summer 
pants  the  Major  had  given  him  reposed  $32.50 
in  actual  money  and  beneath  the  left  pocket  of 
his  summer  weight  military  blouse  that  the 
Major  had  likewise  bequeathed  to  him  lay  a 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  193 

seventeen-year  old  heart  that  beat  out  a  joyous 
song  of  adventure.  Red  was  on  his  way.  And 
Red  was  happy.  For  two  months  he  had  been  a 
volunteer  of  the  fighting  forces  of  Uncle  Sam — 
a  volunteer  soldier  always  very  much  unat- 
tached and  quite  unofficial.  And  now  Red  was 
started  south  for  France  via  Camp  Wadsworth 
to  offer  to  the  Twenty-seventh  Division  one 
uniformed,  equipped  and  trained  soldier,  all 
ready  for  a  fight  or  frolic. 

There  was  no  service  ribbon  across  Red's 
rather  manly  young  chest,  but  he  went  forth 
with  a  reputation  as  a  first  class  fighting  man 
and  a  willing  worker.  Willing  workers  are  rare 
in  any  and  all  armies,  and  so  it  is  that  when  one 
comes  out  from  behind  his  disguise  he  is  made 
thrice  welcome.  And  of  all  the  willing  workers 
in  all  the  armies  of  ancient,  mediaeval  or  modern 
history  Red  was  the  willingest  and  the  welcom- 
es t.  In  all  his  two  months  of  very  unattached 
service  Red  played  not  a  single  hand  in  the 
grand  old  army  game  of  passing  the  buck. 

If  Red  took  out  Major  Bulger's  motor  car 
and  broke  one  of  the  rear  springs  while  leaping 


194       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

from  street  to  street,  did  Red  follow  the  usual 
custom  and  calmly  announce  that  it  was  the 
Major's  official  orderly  or  his  striker  or  the  cor- 
poral of  the  guard  or  even  a  Captain  who  did  it? 
Decidedly  and  emphatically  Red  did  not. 

"The  ole  boat'll  have  to  go  in  dry  docks  for  a 
little  overhauling,  Major,"  he  would  confidenti- 
ally advise.  "She  broke  one  of  her  springs  aft 
this  morning.  She's  an  awful  old  car,  Major. 
Ain't  you  got  any  other  kindova  boat.'^" 

Or  possibly  Chef  Draher  over  at  Company  H 
of  the  306th,  where  Red  chose  to  mess  and  to 
sleep,  would  miss  a  particularly  nice  half  of  an 
apple  pie  out  of  his  private  stock  that  he  had 
hidden  away  for  personal  consumption.  Red, 
having  the  run  of  the  kitchen  and  the  mess  hall, 
would  quite  naturally  be  collared  and  accused. 
Did  Red  say  that  Wart  Jacobs,  that  day  doing 
extra  kitchen  police,  or  Timothy  Doowinkle  of 
the  potato  peeling  squad,  took  and  used  in  an 
unlawful  manner  the  pie.^^  Decidedly  and  em- 
phatically Red  did  not. 

"Sure,  I  ate  your  bum  pie,  chef,  and  I  oughta 
have  a  medal  for  doing  it,"  he  proudly  would 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  195 

confess.  "You  don't  mean  you're  all  het  up 
about  a  little  thing  like  that?  'Member  when 
I  went  up  to  the  post  office,  chef?  'Member 
when  I  got  that  express  package  for  ya,  chef? 
'Member  when  I  helped  ya  with  the  jBres  last 
week,  chef?  And  now  just  for  one  little  piece  of 
cold  pie  you're  goin'  to  have  me  thrown  outa 
the  army  and  everything." 

And  of  course  Chef  Draher  would  try  to 
camouflage  his  complete  forgiveness  under  a 
highly  seasoned  pro-American,  ex-Bavarian  ac- 
cent— ^all  of  which  was  more  pie  for  Red.  In  the 
end  of  the  argument  Red  would  retire  with  a 
fancy  tongue  sandwich  from  the  chef,  a  cigar- 
ette from  the  second  cook  and  a  match  from 
the  kitchen  police. 

In  spots  Red's  history  is  vague.  Outside  of 
a  broad  sweep  toward  Brooklyn  he  never  had 
located  his  official  residence.  Of  trades,  occu- 
pations, professions  or  tricks  Red  had  none. 
He  was  only  a  willing  worker.  And  as  has  been 
remarked  W.  W.'s  are  welcome  birds  around 
army  circles. 

Out  of  a  perfectly  clear  sky  on  the  day  of 


196      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

the  grand  opening  of  Camp  Upton  Red  dropped. 
The  first  that  Major  Bulger  knew  of  him  he 
was  doing  a  menial  task  around  the  Second 
Battalion's  headquarters  and  when  questioned 
as  to  what  local  exemption  board  he  came  from 
or  to  what  outfit  he  had  been  assigned  he  grinned 
very  becomingly,  took  off  his  hat,  displayed  a 
wonderful  sorrel  top  and  confessed  that  he  was 
not  from  anywhere  in  particular  and  so  far  was 
unassigned  and  unattached.  iv* 

That  night  a  big  hearted  private  in  Com- 
pany H  took  him  to  the  barracks  to  mess  and 
permitted  him  to  do  a  bit  of  looting  for  his  cot 
and  blanket.  And  the  next  morning  when 
Major  Bulger  went  to  his  working  quarters  Red 
was  on  the  job  with  his  trick  grin. 

"Lemme  join,  will  ya.  Major?"  he  kept 
asking.  "I'm  big  enough  and  I  ain't  got  any 
dependents.  I'll  make  a  regular  kind  of  a 
soldier." 

But  this  being  a  very  upstage  army  with  a 
long  waiting  list  and  a  box  full  of  black  balls. 
Red  did  not  have  a  chance.  However,  his  plea 
fo*-    a    uniform   while    falling  on  unfavourable 


SO^NIE  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  197 

ground,  did  reap  a  khaki  outfit  from  Major  Bul- 
ger— a  bit  worn  and  with  all  the  braid  taken  off 
the  sleeve — ^but  a  uniform  just  the  same,  and 
Red's  days  were  full  of  joy. 

"Let's  have  Red  try  the  volunteers,"  one 
officer  suggested  to  another.  And  in  the  end 
Lieut.  Edward  McGervey  took  Red  to  the 
Rainbow  Division  at  Mineola,  led  him  to  Col. 
Hine  of  the  gallant  165th  and  left  him  there 
vith  full  recommendations. 

"It  never'U  be  the  same  around  the  old  place 
again,"  mused  Major  Bulger  to  his  Adjutant. 

But  the  next  morning  bright  and  early  when 
the  Major  figuratively  punched  the  army  clock 
there  was  Red,  a  bit  worn  and  weary,  but  the 
same  Red. 

"They  was  full  up  and  I  lacked  two  months," 
he  bravely  grinned.  "I  come  back  in  a  car — 
part  way.  And  the  walkin'  wasn't  bad  the  last 
ten  miles." 

So  Red  resumed  his  old  duties  of  battalion 
willing  worker,  and  things  began  to  seem  the 
same  again.  But  the  fall  days  crept  up  and  the 
Long  Island  winds  put  some  sting  into  tb^uj- 


198       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

selves  and  there  was  no  heavy  issue  overcoat 
for  Red.  The  summer  weight  suit  donated  was 
not  for  such  a  chme  and  time.  And  finally  Red 
did  a  three  day  trick  in  the  base  hospital  with  a 
stubborn  cold. 

So  last  night  there  was  deep  worry  in  the 
inner  circles  of  Company  H.  Red  was  a  growing 
responsibility.  Then  some  one  started  a  hat 
around  the  barracks,  and  when  it  came  back 
there  was  $32.50  in  it.    It  was  Red's  dowry. 

"Me  for  Spartanburg,"  he  announced  after 
lengthy  thanks.  "I'm  eighteen — ^purty  near 
anyhow — ^and  I'll  meet  you  pals  in  France. 
Say,  if  I  can  get  an  O.  D.  overcoat  maybe  I'll 
come  back.  Tell  the  Major  I'm  going  to  be  his 
orderly  when  you  get  across.  I'll  be  waitin' 
for  you  over  there." 

And  to-night  Red  is  well  on  his  smiling  way 
to  the  South.  And  may  the  gods  of  war  make 
him  look  like  18  and  may  they  find  an  O.  D. 
overcoat  to  fit! 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  199 

3 — ^Berlin  Papers  Please  Copy 

Johnny  McGinn  and  Red  were  two  who 
wanted  to  do  their  bit  but  were  denied  the  great 
privilege  by  a  kindly  government.  Frank 
Mehch  was  more  fortunate  and  his  story  is  told 
because  he  is  one  who  didn't  have  to — ^but  did. 

And  Frank  Melich  is  only  one  individual  en- 
gulfed in  this  great  whirling,  throbbing  camp. 
And  scattered  about  the  continent  wide  coun- 
try of  ours  are  thousands  like  him.  And  finer 
and  bigger  than  anything  else  about  this  won- 
derful Government  institution  stands  the  fact 
that  even  those  men  who  come  here  only  because 
they  are  driven  here  when  once  touched  by  the 
magic  of  the  army  and  the  thrill  of  Americanism 
and  the  unknown  joy  of  the  out  of  doors  sud- 
denly lose  all  their  resentment  and  fight  against 
even  the  thought  of  being  barred  from  the 
adventure. 

The  uniform,  the  right  sort  of  paternalism 
of  the  ofiicers,  good  food,  sunshine,  regular 
hours,  healthy  tired  bodies,  bully  companions 
and  the  singing  around  the  barrack  room  pianos 


200      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

at  night,  with  the  call  from  across  the  sea — 
these  do  the  trick.  They're  making  a  lot  of 
things  besides  gun  toters  in  these  great  camps 
of  the  Army  of  Freedom. 

But  about  Frank  Mehch.  Among  the  2,000 
odd  men  who  came  down  from  the  city  with  the 
quota  of  October  10  was  an  expert  electrician, 
who  had  for  some  time  past  been  employed  by 
William  Cramp  &  Sons  Ship  and  Engine  Build- 
ing Company  in  the  very  exacting  work  of  in- 
stalling electrical  equipment  on  United  States 
battleships. 

Some  weeks  before  when  he  discovered  that 
he  had  passed  his  physical  examination  for  the 
selective  service  he  took  the  matter  up  imme- 
diately with  his  employers  and  it  was  decided 
that  he  should  put  in  an  industrial  claim  for 
exemption.  His  work  on  the  Government  ships, 
apparently,  was  of  vital  importance  for  the  con- 
duct of  the  war  and  there  seemed  little  doubt 
that  such  a  claim  would  be  accepted.  At  least  it 
would  be  very  acceptable  to  Melich. 

But  there  came  a  hitch  in  passing  on  the 
claim.     Up  to  the  day  Melich  was  to  leave  for 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  201 

Yaphank  no  action  had  been  taken  by  the  New 
York  City  district  board,  despite  the  fact  that 
the  affidavits  bore  the  signature  of  J.  H.  Hull, 
vice-president  and  general  manager  of  Cramps. 
So  it  was  that  emotions  other  than  patriotism 
s  urged  through  the  breast  of  this  soldier.  It  was  all 
wrong  to  make  him  serve  down  here.  He  was 
giving  up  a  salary  of  $50  a  week  and  work  that 
was  valuable  to  the  Government.  And  he 
didn't  want  to  come.  Arriving  in  camp,  Melich 
was  assigned  at  once  to  the  Outpost  Company, 
302d  Field  Battahon  Signal  Corps,  Capt.  H.  H. 
Lawson,  commanding. 

Six  days  slipped  by,  and  wonders  beyond 
words  can  be  worked  in  six  days.  In  the  case 
of  Private  Frank  Melich  actual  wonders  were 
worked.  The  seventh  morning  just  before  noon 
mess  was  called  the  young  soldier  knocked  at 
his  captain's  door  and,  entering,  saluted. 

"Will  you  kindly  send  these  papers  back. 
Captain,"  he  announced.  "And  tell  them  that 
I  don't  want  to  be  exempted  now.  That  I  find 
I  can  best  serve  my  Government  here  and  that 
this  is  where  I  want  to  stay." 


202      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

The  Captain  opened  the  long  envelope  that 
had  just  been  received  and  took  out  the  official 
papers  containing  the  granting  of  the  claim. 
Glancing  through  them  he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
offered  his  hand  to  Private  Melich. 

"Congratulations,"  he  said,  with  a  punch  to 
the  word.  "You're  in  the  most  dangerous 
branch  of  the  service — doing  advance  signal 
work  in  front  of  the  first  line  trenches — and 
you've  stuck.     Congratulations." 

Multiply  Frank  Melich  by  10,000  and  you 
catch  the  spirit  of  any  single  camp.  And  the 
spirit  of  one  camp  is  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
National  Army. 

America's  young  men  have  proven  themselves. 

4 — ^The  Old  Man  with  the  Two  Stars 

But  the  proving  has  sometimes  chosen  odd 
and  devious  passes.  It  is  a  long  process,  too, 
but  it  is  a  sure  process.  Time  and  patience  and 
friendliness  are  a  wonderfully  efficient  trinity 
when  properly  mixed. 

It  isn't  very  often  that  a  Major-General  will 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  203 


204       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

spend  an  hour  and  a  half  trying  to  convince  a 
plain  rookie  that  he's  making  a  big  mistake  if 
he  does  anything  to  disgrace  the  uniform  he 
wears.  It's  even  less  often  that  a  man  with  two 
stars  on  his  shoulder  straps  will  send  the  won- 
over  rookie  to  the  railroad  station  in  his  own 
automobile  on  a  two-day  leave.  But  the  ''Old 
Man"  up  on  Headquarters  Hill  did  both  yester- 
day. To-morrow  morning,  just  as  certainly  as 
the  sun  will  rise,  a  certain  young  man  in  olive 
drab  will  climb  the  hill  and  go  into  the  *'01d 
Man's"  quarters  and  salute.  And  he'll  say, 
''I'm  back,  General.  And  I  didn't  disgrace  the 
uniform." 

To  start  in  at  the  beginning  of  this  story  you 
must  go  back  to  last  Saturday,  when  one  of  the 
groups  of  selected  men  arrived  from  the  city. 
Or  even  further  back  to  Bukowina,  where  Samuel 
Hulber  was  born.  Young  Hulber  left  the  Aus- 
trian crownland  to  escape  military  service.  In 
New  York  the  young  man,  nursing  anti-militar- 
istic hatred,  was  caught  up  in  the  swirl  of  radica- 
lism and  became  a  Socialist.  Then  came  the 
registration,    the   lottery   at   Washington   with 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  205 

Hulber's  number  one  of  the  first  drawn.  Then 
the  draft  examination,  and  two  months  later  he 
found  himself  a  member  of  the  second  contingent 
ordered  to  Camp  Upton. 

Quietly  and  silently  determining  his  positive 
course  of  action  Hulber  w^ent  through  the  camp 
registration  and  physical  examination  and  in- 
oculation and  the  mustering  in.  In  the  assign- 
ment to  service  he  drew  Company  E,  Second 
Battalion,  307th  Infantry,  Colonel  Erwin  com- 
manding, and  reported  without  comment  or 
trouble  to  his  company  commander,  Lieutenant 
Philip  J.  Scudder.  Monday  came,  with  the 
companies  marching  in  squads  to  the  regimental 
quartermaster's  depot,  where  uniforms  were 
issued. 

Shortly  before  the  order  came  to  march  to  the 
depot,  Hulber  approached  Lieutenant  Scudder 
and  quietly  stated  that  he  was  a  conscientious 
objector,  and  was  against  any  service  that  had 
the  taking  of  human  life  as  its  end.  So  sincere 
and  quiet  was  the  startling  announcement  that 
instead  of  placing  the  young  soldier  under  arrest 
and  ordering  him  to  the  guardhouse,  the  acting 


206      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

captain  took  him  to  Major  Albert  Nathan,  com- 
manding the  Second  BattaHon. 

Again  Hulber  reiterated  his  views,  describing 
in  the  same  subdued  and  determined  tones  his 
objections  and  exact  conscientious  reasons.  Very 
earnestly  Major  Nathan  listened  to  the  appeal, 
but  knowing  that  there  was  nothing  for  him  to 
do  but  to  see  that  the  regular  order  of  procedure 
was  carried  out  he  commanded  Hulber  to  pro- 
cure his  uniform  and  accept  his  army  duties. 

"All  right,  sir,  I'll  accept  your  orders,"  Hulber 
respectfully  answered,  "but  my  conscience  will 
not  permit  me  to  put  on  the  uniform." 

Without  further  words  Major  Nathan  took 
Hulber  to  the  uniforming  depot  and  appointed 
two  men  to  go  with  him  as  an  unofficial  guard. 
Reaching  the  building,  the  young  soldier  made 
absolutely  no  resistance  against  being  fitted  with 
the  uniform,  but  hkewise  made  no  effort  to 
assist.  Exactly  as  one  would  dress  a  dummy 
form  the  two  guards  dressed  him,  excepting  for 
army  shoes  and  campaign  hat,  there  being  a 
temporary  shortage  on  these  articles  at  that 
particular  moment. 


SOME  TIIEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  207 

Returning  to  the  barracks  Hulber  again  very 
quietly  and  respectfully  informed  his  officers 
that  he  was  sincerely  and  conscientiously  against 
the  war  and  military  service  and  that  he  never 
would  voluntarily  wear  or  put  on  the  army 
uniform. 

The  fact  that  there  was  nothing  of  the  dema- 
gogue or  soapbox  orator  about  him  and  all  his 
statements  of  his  objections  were  made  only  to 
the  officers  so  impressed  his  superiors  that  they 
took  him  to  Colonel  Erwin,  the  regimental 
commander.  While  the  officers  were  talking 
over  the  case  among  themselves  Hulber  sent  in 
a  note  addressed  to  the  colonel,  reading:  "As 
long  as  I  am  a  conscientious  objector  and  cannot 
serve  in  the  army,  I  v/ish  you  would  shoot  me 
to-day  and  have  it  over  with." 

Melodramatic  and  grandiose  as  it  may  sound 
in  cold  type,  it  was  nevertheless  very  impressive 
to  the  officers.  Without  reaching  a  decision 
they  told  him  to  go  back  to  his  barracks.  The 
following  morning  Major  Nathan  and  Lieuten- 
ant Scudder  again  held  a  conference  with  the 
young  man,  but  without  making  any  headway; 


£08      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

then  as  a  last  effort,  before  taking  forcible  steps, 
they  took  Hulber  to  headquarters  and  brought 
him  before  Lieutenant-Colonel  E.  E.  Booth, 
Chief  of  Staff. 

As  in  the  case  of  all  the  other  officers  Colonel 
Booth  was  so  impressed  with  the  soldier's  sin- 
cerity of  purpose  and  belief  that  he  personally 
took  the  case  before  Major-General  Bell.  Gen- 
eral Bell  immediately  sent  for  Hulber. 

With  all  the  patience  and  fairness  and  fine 
spirit  that  a  father  might  use  in  talking  over  a 
serious  question  with  a  son,  General  Bell  held 
a  heart-to-heart  conference  with  Hulber.  First 
he  had  him  explain  exactly  his  objections,  and 
gave  his  side  of  the  case  a  complete  hearing. 
The  young  man,  he  discovered,  had  been  born 
under  the  terror  of  militarism,  and  his  hatred 
for  war  was  deep  and  sincere. 

Then  he  found  that  the  young  man  was  a 
Socialist,  and  although  very  religious  had  no  re- 
ligious objections  to  war.  Lastly,  that  a  very 
sensitive  and  finely  strung  nature  had  revolted 
against  the  possibly  rough  treatment  of  some 
unthinking  drill  sergeant.     All  these  fermented 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  209 

by  constant  brooding  had  caused  him  to  take 
his  dangerous  stand.  Little  by  httle  the  kindly 
old  man  with  the  two  stars  cut  down  one  at  a 
time  his  objections. 

Carefully  he  explained  that  he  had  only  re- 
spect for  Hulber's  sincerity  and  conscientious- 
ness, but  that  he  must  not  confuse  principle  with 
a  whim  or  sentiment.  His  refusal  to  wear  and 
respect  his  uniform  was  a  whim,  he  pointed  out, 
while  his  objection  to  bloodshed  was  no  doubt 
a  sincere  principle. 

"I  have  worn  Uncle  Sam's  uniform  for  more 
than  forty  years,  my  boy,"  the  general  told  him. 
''And  let  me  tell  you  that  there  is  nothing  dis- 
honourable about  wearing  it.  I'm  an  old  man 
at  this  army  life  and  I  don't  like  to  see  a  young 
man  entering  it  making  a  mistake  that  will  cost 
him  as  much  as  this  might  cost  you." 

So  httle  by  httle  the  youth  who  had  asserted 
he  would  never  wear  the  uniform  of  a  United 
States  soldier  unless  physically  compelled  to  was 
won  around  to  see  that  it  not  only  wouldn't  pay, 
but  wasn't  right,  and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  and 
a  half  Hulber  rose,  and  the  General  was  smiling 


210      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

out  of  his  very  wise  and  very  tired  eyes.  The 
boy  laughingly  remarked  that  he  supposed  he 
had  jockeyed  himself  out  of  the  privilege  of  cele- 
brating the  Jewish  holiday  in  the  city. 

"Who  told  you  that?"  the  general  demanded. 

"Well,  no  one,  but  I  wouldn't  think  of  asking 
any  such  favour  after  all  this." 

The  general  glanced  at  his  wrist  watch  and 
then  touched  his  orderly  button. 

"You've  got  just  twenty  minutes  to  catch 
the  special  train." 

With  one  glance  the  old  man  let  his  eyes 
sweep  over  the  joyous  youth.  The  hat  was 
wrong  and  the  shoes  were  a  dusty  black  civilian 
l^air. 

"Orderly,  get  my  car;  take  this  man  and  find 
a  pair  of  army  shoes  and  a  regulation  hat  for 
him — ^borrow  'em  from  anybody — and  see  that 
he  makes  the  train.  By  the  way,  I'll  have  you 
transferred  to  another  company  when  you  get 
back  so  you  can  start  all  straight  again." 

The  boy  started  to  sputter  a  reply  but  the 
general  hushed  him. 

"You'll  not  let  any  one  convince  you  that 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  211 

your  uniform  is  all  wrong  when  you  get  to  the 
city,  will  you,  boy?" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

^'And  above  everything  else,  you  won't  even 
think  of  making  the  terrible  mistake  of  trying 
to  escape  your  duty  and  not  return  to  camp?" 

And  here  it  was  that  Private  Samuel  Hulber 
of  the  307th  Regiment  of  the  Army  of  Freedom, 
squared  quite  a  little  of  his  debit  account  with 
the  general.  Saluting,  he  pronounced  in  square, 
fine  words: 

"General,  on  my  honour,  I'll  return  when  my 
leave  is  up." 

And  he  did. 

5 — ^JoE  Sticks 

Joe  Tomassio,  ex-national  Army  of  Freedom, 
had  his  New  Year's  dinner  with  Battery  A, 
304th  Field  Artillery  after  all. 

This  is  not  so  very  much  of  a  social  note  and 
probably  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word  it  will 
not  create  any  extreme  panic  or  sensation  in 
high  army  circles,  but  it  means  a  good  deal  to 
Joe  just  the  same,  and  it  also  means  a  good  deal 


212      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

to  the  millions  whose  heart  strings  happen  to  be 
all  tangled  up  in  this  same  lowly  army  of  democ- 
racy's hope. 

For  Joe  is  one  of  the  soldiers  who  wanted  to 
but  could  not.  And  it  has  taken  the  people  of 
this  country  a  long  while — at  least  in  the  calen- 
dar of  our  own  war  days — ^to  realise  that  Joe 
has  a  lot  of  pals  who  like  him  wanted  to  but 
could  not.  That  sort  of  goes  against  the  idea 
that  America  had  of  the  way  the  draft  would 
work  out — and  since  the  sting  has  been  taken 
out  of  the  word  draft  one  can  use  it  now  without 
fear  or  apology — ^but  slowly  this  idea  has  been 
changing  and  it  has  been  the  Joes  who  have  had 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  change. 

It  has  been  several  weeks  now  since  Joe  first 
piled  off  the  troop  train  that  brought  him  to 
Camp  Upton.  He  really  did  not  want  to  come, 
but  like  all  the  other  thousands  he  smothered 
his  resentment  and  decided  that  if  it  had  to  be 
done  it  had  to  be  and  that  was  all  there  was 
about  it. 

If  there  had  been  any  way  of  getting  out  of  it, 
why  Joe  would  have  tried  it — ^then. 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  213 

Things  did  not  change  much  for  the  first  three 
or  four  days  with  all  the  bustle  and  hurry  of 
being  assigned  and  examined  and  shot  full  of 
"anti"  sera,  but  in  less  than  a  week  things  had 
simmered  down  and  Joe  began  to  edge  in  a  bit. 
He  found  two  young  fellows  in  his  squad,  whose 
cots  were  next  to  his,  who  w^ere  just  the  sort  of 
pals  that  he  had  ahvays  wanted.  And  there 
were  a  score  of  others  around  the  barrack  that 
he  soon  began  to  think  a  good  deal  of.  And  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  really  seemed  to  fit  in. 
He  had  his  regular  place  in  his  gun  squad  and 
his  regular  w  ork  to  do  and  he  soon  realised  that 
he  was  a  part  of  this  great  war  machine  that  is 
being  builded. 

Then  one  day  Joe  fainted  while  on  a  hike. 
It  w^as  freezing  cold,  but  his  pals — the  two  whose 
cots  were  next  his — took  off  their  coats  and  put 
them  around  him,  and  one  ran  a  half  mile  to 
telephone  for  the  ambulance.  They  were  his 
pals. 

The  next  day  when  the  medical  inspection 
was  made  his  Captain  spoke  to  the  surgeon 
about  his  trick  heart  and  had  him  examined. 


214      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Ah,  I'm  all  right,"  Joe  bragged.  "My 
heart's  all  right.    I  ain't  kickin',  am  I?" 

"That's  the  way  to  feel  about  it,  anyway," 
the  kindly  surgeon  answered.  "Guess  we'll  give 
you  another  chance." 

But  Joe's  trick  heart  double  crossed  him  and 
within  a  week  the  rookie  artilleryman  had 
keeled  over  again,  but  this  time  he  was  in  his 
regimental  infirmary  and  not  his  own  barrack 
cot  when  he  came  to.  And  a  day  or  two  later 
not  one  but  three  physicians  were  counting  his 
heart  beats  and  using  long  Latin  names  and 
shaking  their  heads  over  his  case. 

"You  won't  do  and  that's  all  there  is  about 
it,"  one  told  him.  "We'll  recommend  your 
discharge." 

To  Joe  it  was  Hke  a  knockout  punch  a  second 
after  the  first  gong  had  sounded.  And  like  a 
fighter,  after  it  was  all  over  he  could  not  under- 
stand just  what  it  was  about. 

"I'll  be  all  right  after  a  while,"  he  pleaded. 
"Honest  I  will— I'll  be  all  right." 

But  it  wasn't  any  use.  The  special  exam- 
ining board  knew  its  business  and  sentiment  did 


SOME  THEY  TOOK,  OTHERS  FAILED  215 

not  have  any  considerable  place  in  it.  And  so 
it  was  that  Joe  was  told  that  the  next  day  he 
would  be  sent  back  to  New  York. 

Back  in  the  city  was  Joe's  old  job,  and  his  old 
pals  were  waiting  for  him.  And  there  was 
freedom  there  and  lights  and  all  the  life  that  he 
had  ever  knoAvn. 

But  the  army  had  touched  him  with  its  magic. 
He  wanted  to  stay  with  his  soldier  pals,  and  the 
gods  who  wind  up  the  great  spools  of  red  tape 
would  not  let  him. 

On  his  way  to  the  station,  with  his  two  pals 
trudging  silently  by  his  side,  Joe  passed  the  big 
hotel  and  store  that  squats  like  a  giant  footstool 
on  the  lower  edge  of  Headquarters  Hill.  An 
overgrown  boy  in  worn  "cits"  who  was  lazily 
shovelling  snow  from  the  sidewalk  in  front  gave 
him  an  idea.  A  half  minute  later  he  was  address- 
ing the  manager. 

"Any  kind  of  a  job  will  be  all  right  with  me," 
he  announced. 

"We  can  give  you  $18  a  week,"  he  was  told. 

"You're  on,"  Joe  flashed  back.    "I'll  stay." 

So  it  was  that  Joe  stayed  on  with  the  army 


216      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

that  he  loves.  And  on  nights  when  his  work  is 
done  he  hustles  over  to  Battery  A  barrack  and 
sings  and  yarns  and  plays  with  his  pals. 

They  asked  him  over  for  New  Year's  dinner. 
And  this  noon  when  Joe  sat  down  to  the  big 
turkey,  cranberry  and  mince  pie  spread  he 
whispered  to  his  two  pals  his  latest  scheme  for 
getting  to  France  with  his  bimkies. 

"I'm  saving  up  my  money  and  I'm  goin'  to 
buy  me  a  uniform  and  a  whole  outfit,  and  then 
when  you  march  on  board  the  ship  I'll  just 
naturally  go  along,"  he  confided.  "I  guess  they 
ain't  goin'  cheat  me  out  of  goin'  over  there  with 
you  guys.    I'm  going  along,  I  am." 

And  more  power  to  you,  Joe — and  may  you 
get  a  German  or  two  all  of  your  own  when  you 
get  Over  There. 


CHAPTER  NINE 
MOTLEY  MEASURES 


CHAPTER  NINE 
MOTLEY  MEASURES 

1 — ^Ambition 

PRIVATE  Dominick  Romano,  Company  I, 
307th  Infantry,  Army  of  Freedom,  alias 
Bull  Ryan,  one  time  lightweight  cham- 
pion of  the  Hycentiath  Sporting  Club  of  Har- 
lem, sat  cross-legged  on  the  edge  of  his  army  cot, 
and  wetting  his  upper  lip  tried  to  tuck  as  much 
of  it  as  possible  into  the  brass  mouthpiece  of  a 
regulation  bugle.  But  it  was  a  tough  job,  for 
Bull's  upper  lip  was  tender  and  puffed  up  to 
almost  twice  its  natural  size.  The  blowing  of 
an  army  bugle,  let  it  be  understood,  is  for  strong 
men  only,  and  is  just  the  sort  of  work  for  former 
lightweight  club  champions. 

"Hire  a  hall — ^whadya  think  this  is,  anyway?" 
shouted  mess  Sergeant  Aleck  Brooks,  stopping 
long  enough  in  his  task  of  mending  his  army 

219 


220      BLOYVN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

pants  that  Kaiser  Bill,  the  goat,  had  marked  in 
the  initiation  ceremonies  into  Company  I,  to 
hurl  a  bit  of  a  harpoon  into  his  bunkie. 

''Can't  you  do  notin'  but  hit  blue  ones, 
Bull?"  demanded  Private  Flaherty,  likewise 
nursing  memories  of  the  company  goat.  "Here 
you  been  playing  on  that  bugle  three  solid  hours 
ever  since  mess  and  you  ain't  had  two  notes 
straight  runnin'  right  yet.  Some  Kid  Gabriel, 
you  be." 

But  like  the  well-known  rain  sliding  off  the 
equally  well-known  duck's  back  all  such  banter- 
ings  and  persiflage  slipped  gracefully  and  freely 
past  Bull's  bugle,  dripping  off  along  with  Bull's 
blue  notes.  For  ambition,  w^hile  a  cruel  master, 
is  oft  a  pleasant  companion,  and  Bull  was  bask- 
ing in  the  sunshine  of  his  self -promise.  He 
would  be  the  company's  one  and  only  bugler.  It 
would  be  his  privilege  to  get  'em  up  in  the  morn- 
ing, make  'em  drill,  feed  'em  and  then  let  his 
Taps  tuck  'em  in  between  their  olive  drab  army 
blankets  at  night. 

To  Bull  this  was  the  end  of  a  fairly  perfect 
day.     Along  with  his  musical  ambition  he  had 


MOTLEY  MEASURES 


221 


done  quite  well  with  his  nursing  and  self-raising 
of  his  determination  to  be  a  first-class  trick 
soldier  as  well  as  a  master  bugler.  The  little 
blue  book  of  army  regulations  was  his  bible, 
hymn  book  and  prayer  guide  all  bound  in  one 
precious  volume.  By  studying  this  carefully. 
Bull  had  been  able  to  keep  a  couple  of  leaps 
ahead  of  his  bunkies.  While  they  were  bothering 
with  such  kindergarten  work  as  the  manual  of 
arms  he  had  been  study- 
ing the  duties  of  a  sen- 
tinel. And  only  this 
very  afternoon  he  had 
been  practising  them. 

The  brass  bugle 
rested  unassaulted  for 
a  moment  while  Bull 
let  his  mind  wander 
back  to  this  little 
guard  duty  of  his. 
Rather  funny  about 
that.  You  see  he'd  gone  out  to  the  regimental 
drill  grounds  where  half  a  dozen  or  more  com- 
panies  were   working  and  had   just   taken   his 


222      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

guard  mount  post  when  an  officer  with  a  gold 
leaf  on  his  shoulder  straps  rode  by. 

"Halt!  Who  goes  there?"  Bull  demanded, 
bringing  his  gun  down  to  a  port  arms. 

"Major  Cassatt,  Divisional  Inspector-Gen- 
eral," the  officer  answered,  very  much  surprised 
at  the  challenge. 

"Advance,  Inspector-General,  and  establish 
your  identity." 

Without  any  serious  difficulty  the  Major 
proved  his  statements,  announcing  that  he  was 
making  an  inspection  tour  about  the  drill 
grounds. 

"All  right,  sir — ^pass,  Inspector-General." 

With  the  formaHties  finished  the  Major  sud- 
denly changed  his  tone  and  severely  demanded: 
"Now  who  in  the  ***fr'"''****pppp  p^^  ^.^^ 

here  in  the  middle  of  this  drill  ground.^" 

"Nobody,"  Bull  blandly  answered. 

"Well,  what  in  the  ***fM"""????****  are  you 
doing  here,  then.^" 

"Just  practising,  sir." 

«***nM^^;""PPPPPP*****^"  the  Major  declared 
with  rising  emphasis. 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  223 

Bull  recalled  all  these  things  while  the  bugle 
rested  in  his  mighty  right,  slowly  recovering 
from  the  punishment  it  had  been  receiving.  No 
gloved  opponent  of  Bull's  ever  went  to  his  cor- 
ner at  the  sound  of  the  gong  with  as  much  thank- 
fulness as  Bull's  bugle.  But  with  the  minute  of 
respite  ended  Bull  rewet  his  puffed  upper  lip  and 
twisted  most  of  it  into  the  brass  bugle  mouth- 
piece. 

On  Bull's  knee  rested  the  little  blue  army  book 
with  the  calls  diagramed  in  the  back.  Imparti- 
ally and  without  favour  Bull  had  worked  his 
way  down  the  pages  blowing  the  very  heart  out 
of  each  call.  And  now  he  was  on  the  very  last 
one  and,  wonder  of  wonders,  it  was  so  simple 
that  Bull  had  no  trouble  in  making  it. 

"Tra-la-la!  Tra-la-la!  Tra-la-la!"  it  went, 
a  simple  repetition  of  three  notes. 

With  great  eclat  and  pride  Bull  pointed  his 
brass  upward  at  a  45  degree  angle  and  let  the 
call  tumble  out  again  and  again.  Then,  like  an 
echo,  from  the  direction  of  the  barrack  to  the 
right  came  a  repetition  to  the  call.  Then 
another  barrack  took  it  up,  and  finally  all  over 


224       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

the  section  the  call  sounded,  and  then  shouts, 
and  in  a  half  minute  the  company  streets  were 
filled  with  wondering  rookie  soldiers. 

Bull  played  on  as  Nero  might  have  played  on 
one  famous  occasion  in  Rome.  Then  there  came 
the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  on  the  stairs — ■ 
and  then  up  popped  the  head  of  mighty  Top 
Sergeant  Charles  French.  Ten  feet  away,  his 
back  turned  with  his  bugle  tilted  high,  sat  the 
pride  of  the  company  blowing  away  on  his  brass. 

Quietly  the  Sarge  tiptoed  up  to  a  fire  bucket, 
and  then,  swinging  free  and  wide,  let  Bull  have 
it  back  to. 

"Maybe  that'll  put  out  that  Fire  Call  you're 
playing,"  he  allowed. 

And  Bull,  spluttering,  dripping  and  shocked, 
wondered  for  the  minute  whether  ambition 
wasn't  a  fool  thing  to  be  fooling  with  anyhow. 

2 — ^LocAL  Talent 

And  ambition  knows  no  bounds.  The  bar- 
ber from  Harlem  would  rather  be  known  as  the 
world's  slickest  shaver  than  President;  Johnny 
McGinn  would  prefer  soldiering  to  millionairing 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  225 

and  Kid  Bologna  would  rather  be  a  K.  O. 
artist  than  a  Brigadier. 

For  about  two  seconds  it  looked  as  if  Kid 
Bologna  would  break  up  the  whole  show  and 
simply  spoil  everything.  There's  no  use  talking 
— a  prize  fighter  who  boxes  in  his  army  under- 
shirt is  a  dangerous  character  and  should  be 
watched.    Bologna  simply  cinches  all  argument. 

For  tw^o  and  one-half  rounds  Bologna  had 
been  raked  fore  and  aft  by  the  long  arm  jabs  of 
Harry  Frederick,  the  lightweight  hope  of  Com- 
pany C,  and  Bologna  was  plenty  sore.  In  fact 
he  was  mad,  hornet  mad,  and  so  it  was  that  the 
next  time  Frederick  belted  him  with  that  long 
skinny  right  of  his  Bologna  forgot  all  about  science. 
Marquis  of  Queensbury  rules,  army  regulations 
and  a  gentlemen's  agreement,  and  bucking  his 
thick,  dark,  Italian  born  head  and  assuming  a  low 
visibility  waded  in  and  charged  low  and  deadly. 

'* Knock  'em  dead,  Bologna,  old  kid!"  "'Give 
'em  your  Jack  Johnson!"  "Atta  boy,  kid.  Atta 
boy,  kid.    Atta  boy!"  cried  the  spectators. 

But  again  Bologna  ran  plumb  into  a  wicked 
left,  and  then  it  was  that  the  122  pound  wonder 


226      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

of  Company  C  forgot  all  his  manners  and  train- 
ing and  cut  loose  with  his  deadly  right  army  boot. 
"Wham  plam!"  echoed  the  boot  on  Handsome 
Harry's  olive  drab  pants. 

"You  kick  me  again  like  that,  you  darn 
spaghetti  eater,  and  I'll  knock  yer  darn  block 
off!"  Handsome  Harry  screamed.  "Don't  yer 
know  nothin',  you  big  barber?" 

Phil  Elhoff,  neutral  and  conscientious  referee, 
quieted  Harry  down,  admonished  Bologna, 
known  on  the  company  payrolls  as  Tony  Per- 
rone,  that  kicking  was  against  all  articles  of  war, 
Hague  peace  agreements  and  was  permissible 
only  when  fighting  with  a  German,  and  thus 
not  only  saved  Company  A's  first  great  party 
from  being  a  rout,  but  swung  it  into  the  history 
making  pages. 

This  302d  Field  Battahon,  United  States 
Signal  Corps,  is  quite  a  doggy,  proud,  young 
outfit  anyway,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  and 
this  night  Company  A,  as  host  and  tea  pourer 
to  the  battalion's  original  reception,  more  than 
laid  themselves  out.  In  the  first  place  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  battalion  is  made  up 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  227 

of  men  who  enlisted  in  the  Signal  Corps  Reserve, 
while  the  remainder  are  very  carefully  hand 
picked,  selected  men,  and  for  a  commanding 
officer  they  have  an  honest-to-goodness  dashing, 
young  West  Pointer,  Major  C.  M.  Milhken. 

Until  the  day  before  the  organization  had 
been  collected  indiscriminately  in  three  com- 
panies, but  this  night  a  complete  reassignment 
had  been  made,  making  Company  A  the  wire- 
less outfit,  B  the  wiring  division,  and  C  the 
outpost  company. 

''Fine  idea,  wouldn't  it,  for  us  men  leaving 
old  A  to  fix  up  a  farewell  party  so  the  boys  would 
know  we  was  with  'em  all  the  way,  eh  what?" 
Phil  Elhoff,  who  is  none  other  than  our  own  in- 
trepid referee,  suggested  to  Nat  Weiss,  the 
equally  intrepid  announcer  of  the  subsequent 
fruit  of  the  suggestion. 

"That's  the  very  lily,  bunkie,"  Nat  replied. 
"Let's  show  the  dear  old  boys  of  A — the  boys 
we  have  fit  and  died  with  through  all  these  early 
trying  days  of  the  war  out  at  Camp  Upton — 
that  we're  with  'em  to  the  bitter  end." 

So  it  was  that  the  great  tea  pouring  was  ar- 


228      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

ranged  with  Company  A  men  as  ofScial  hosts 
and  the  officers  and  men  of  all  three  companies 
invited  and  made  welcome. 

*'The  next  on  the  programme  is  goin'  to  be 
ukelele  and  mandolin  music  by  Charley  Gordon, 
Company  B,  and  George  Miller,  Company  C," 
the  voice  of  Announcer  Nat  rang  out  through 
the  barracks  of  Company  A.  From  out  of  the 
dark  background,  far  behind  the  rows  of  soldiers 
perched  and  jammed  about  the  ten  foot  square 
stage  and  fighting  ring,  came  the  mournful 
sound  of  a  ukelele  being  coached  and  bullied 
into  crawling  into  tune.  Then  on  came  Charley 
and  George  armed  with  their  trusty  weapons. 

With  three  duets  laid  away  to  rest  Charley 
was  urged  into  singing  some  original  little  ditties 
native  and  indigenous  to  the  army.  One  of 
them  was  laid  out  at  Waikiki  and  had  something 
to  do  with  a  girl  called  Hula  and  walking  on  the 
beach  and  had  a  wild  wolf  of  an  ending  that 
ran  fancy  free,  to  wit,  as  follows: 

And  when  the  moon  goes  down  at  Waikiki 

Leave  it  to  me — he-he-he-he 

Oh  boy! 

Leave  it  to  me — e-e-e-e 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  229 

Then  Charley  sang  a  sad  melody  entitled, 
''Since  We're  in  the  Army,"  with  words  and 
music  that  ran  on  for  quite  a  time.  Two  of  the 
verses  caught  on  the  wing  were: 

No  more  ham  or  eggs  or  grapefruit 
When  the  bugle  blows  for  chow; 
No  more  apple  pie  or  dumpling 
For  we're  in  the  army  now. 

No  more  shirts  of  silk  or  linen; 
We  all  wear  the  "O.  D."  stuff, 
No  more  nightshirts  or  pajamas, 
Cause  40  underwear  is  good  enough. 

More  songs,  more  star  bouts,  recitations,  Old 
Bill  Ferreri  and  his  trick  dog  Prince,  speeches 
by  seven  officers,  and  then  a  trick  supper  of 
combination  fritters  a  la  wireless,  cottage  pud- 
ding a  la  telephone,  fruit  salad  a  la  telegraph, 
all  closing  with  ice  cream,  coffee  and  cigarettes. 

Well,  now,  who  wouldn't  want  to  be  in  the 
army? 

3 — ^BuG  Powder  and  Shoulder  Straps 

Probably  Old  Doc  Spavin  of  the  Engineers 
at  this  particular  moment  would  have  set  up  a 


230      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

long,  loud  and  determined  wail  in  volunteering 
for  that  special  honour  of  not  wanting  to  be  in 
the  army.  For  right  at  this  time  the  army 
didn't  mean  anything  at  all,  at  all,  to  him. 

Old  Doc  leaned  on  the  handle  of  his  axe  and 
swore  gently  in  a  strange,  weird  language.  He 
had  a  grievance  against  the  whole  known  world, 
especially  against  the  army  and  more  especially 
still  against  his  own  company  commander  in  the 
302d  Engineers,  National  Army  of  Freedom. 

Old  Doc  had  been  reduced.  No  longer  could 
he  wear  the  service  ribbons  and  the  fancy  tinted 
hand-painted  shoulder  straps  that  went  with  his 
rank.  From  a  certain  rather  high  and  unknown 
position  in  army  life  he  was  now  back  swinging 
an  axe  when  he  wasn't  learning  how  to  drill  and 
shoot  with  a  rifle.  In  truth.  Old  Doc  was  all 
out  of  luck. 

"I  no  ain't  no  ordinary  individual,"  Private 
Doc  Spavin  moaned  on.  "Don't  I  got  a  lot  of 
professions?  Ain't  I  one  chemist,  I  ask  you — 
and  ain't  I  studied  by  de  forestry  profession.'^ 
And  ask  me  if  I  don't  know  all  about  something 
on  taxidermy  and  medical  medicine  and  phar- 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  231 

macy.  I  am  a  tumble  waluable  man,  I  was, 
an'  I  don't  get  nudding  from  army  but  one  rottin' 
deal.  I  am  disgusted  wid  being  a  wood  chop 
in  the  engineers. 

"Back  in  New  York  I  got  a  business  all  of  my 
own  making  bug  powder.  I  can  kill  so  many 
bugs  as  you  never  see  wid  one  package.  Don't 
I  kill  a  lot  of  Httle  ones  for  some  of  the  boys  in 
my  company.     Jus'  ask  me  dat,  will  you.^" 

Old  Doc  Spavin,  at  present  naught  but  a 
lowly  private,  leaned  almost  savagely  on  his  axe 
handle  and  swore  some  more.  The  strange  oaths 
seemed  to  go  nicely  with  Doc's  build. 

Just  as  he  was  short  and  squat — ^very,  very 
squat — and  had  somewhat  of  a  wild,  foreign  look 
about  him,  so  did  these  flowing  curse  words  of 
Doc's  have  all  the  flavour  and  character  of  short, 
squat,  and  very  virile  oaths.  And,  too,  they 
were  a  bit  ratty,  resembling  Doc  in  this  particu- 
lar possibly  closer  than  in  any  other. 

"I  don't  put  in  no  claim  for  exempum  or  not- 
ing when  I  come  down  here.  I  vant  to  serve  my 
country  sometime,  so  I  leave  my  factory  and 
my  buziness  and  come.     And  ask  me — do  they 


232      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

make  of  me  a  doctor  or  a  good  job  give  me? 
You  guess  not.  I  don't  get  noting  but  vork  and 
vork  and  vork.  But  should  I  care — ^I  don't  tink 
not.  I  just  vork  and  vork,  and  vork  and  I 
don't  vant  no  small  office.  I  vant  something 
big  and  I  say,  'No,  I  don't  vant  any  corporal.'" 

With  wonderful  disdain  Doc  pointed  toward 
a  corporal  who  was  taking  both  his  roadmaking 
and  his  official  job  quite  seriously.  '*Lookey,  I 
should  vant  some  five  cent  job  like  that,  I  don't 
think! "  he  went  on.  "What  I  wanted  was  some- 
thing fine  like  a  company  adjutant.  You  know 
him.^" 

Doc's  audience,  with  only  a  score  of  years  of 
soldiering  to  his  credit,  confessed  that  he  had 
never  heard  of  any  such  officer  as  company 
adjutant.  Adjutants  are  far  from  rare  birds 
around  armies — battalions,  regiments,  brigades 
and  divisions  all  have  their  pet  adjutants — but 
although  one  of  Uncle  Sam's  new  companies  now 
boasts  of  six  commissioned  officers,  it  has  hardly 
advanced  to  the  swagger  state  of  having  its  own 
adjutant. 

"Ugh,  there  is  a  lot  of  something  you  don't 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  233 

know  about  the  army  yet,  no,"  Doc  announced. 

"I  was  one  one  day,  wonst.  I  am  the  kind  of  a 
man  that  you  should  have  always  as  company 
adjutant.  It  is  a  fine  job  and  tooks  all  the  work 
from  away  off  of  the  captain.  And  what  some 
more — ^I  was  made  adjutant  by  all  the  boys  of 
my  company  right  themselves,  I  was. 

''You  know  we  got  a  lot  of  fine  fellers  in  my 
company  and  they  have  a  lot  of  fun  and  they 
joke  themselves  all  the  time  with  me.  They 
think  they — what  you  call  him.^  Oh,  yes,  spoof 
me,  and  I  just  let  'em  have  some  fun.  But  just 
the  same  when  they  wanted  a  company  adju- 
tant ask  me  who  they  took.^  Well  they  took 
me — ^them  boys  did. 

"Sunday  night  when  I  don't  know  nothing 
at  all  about  it  they  took  me  upstairs  in  the  bar- 
racks and  the  sergeant  he  say,  'Doc  Spavin,  we 
have  decided  to  make  you  company  adjutant  by 
unanimous  vote.  This  is  one  fine  high  office 
and  we  all  got  to  salute  you  and  you  are  right 
up  next  by  the  captain.' 

"Then  they  pinned  the  service  ribbons  on  me, 
right  over  my  pocket  up  here,  and  then  give  me 


234      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

the  shoulder  straps,  and  had  a  lot  of  ceremony, 
and  I  make  one  speech  and  after  that  every 
time  I  walked  up  and  down  they  all  stood  by 
attention  and  saluted  me  like  a  general  or  some- 
thing." 

Doc's  round,  red,  and  foreign  face  fairly 
beamed  as  he  related  the  story  of  his  hours  of 
triumph. 

"Some  job,  wasn't  it?"  was  suggested. 

''Ask  me  if  she  wasn't.  And  wasn't  I  gettin' 
$57  a  month  for  pay,  when  you  only  get  by  $30 
like  a  private.  And  didn't  all  the  boys  know  a 
good  officer  when  they  see  him — ^ask  me.^  and 
what  do  you  suppose  happened.^     Jus'  guess." 

A  guess  was  hazarded,  but  it  was  the  wrong 
one. 

''Veil,  the  second  day  what  I  was  company 
adjutant  I  was  in  the  kitchen  and  don't  I  see 
something  wrong  and  don't  I  go  up  to  the  cap- 
tain and  say,  'Captain,  the  mess  hall  he  should 
be  washed  better.' 

"Well,  the  captain  he  got  sore  and  he  asked 
me  who  I  thought  I  was,  and  when  I  told  him 
who,  he  said,  'You  are  a  private  now.'     He  re- 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  235 

duced  me,  that's  what  I  got,  and  now  I  have  to 
work  Uke  I  was  nudding  but  one  private  soldier 
again,  and  already  while  I  am  in  the  army  I 
lose  twenty-nine  pounds  and  I  don't  weigh  nud- 
ding but  187.  This  is  a  fine  lot  of  business, 
ain't  she?" 

Just  then  the  strident,  rather  peeved  voice  of 
Corporal  Billings  rang  out  through  the  still 
November  air.  It  was  a  voice  of  authority, 
naked  and  unadorned. 

''What  the  h you  doin',  Doc.^    Watcha 

think  this  is — ^your  birthday  party.?  You're 
always  talkin'  about  how  you  can  play  a  piano; 
well,  let's  see  you  play  a  tune  on  that  stump  with 
your  axe.     Rustle,  rustle." 

Old  Doc  Spavin,  late  company  adjutant,  un- 
leaned  himself  from  his  axe  handle.  He  was 
slow  and  deliberate  and  very,  very  dignified, 
swinging  lightly  and  with  little  emphasis. 

And  silently  he  heaved  a  sigh  in  deepest  sym- 
pathy for  a  one-time  famous  Czar  now  shovelling 
snow  in  front  of  his  one-time  palace  in  Siberia, 
farthest  north. 

Spoofing  is  rough  work  at  the  best. 


236      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

4 — ^Windows  of  Promise 
From  Old  Doc  Spavin  to  the  girl  at  the  train 
is  a  big  jump — ^but  this  is  an  army  of  and  a  year 
for  big  jumps.     And  even  gentle  readers  must 
make  them  without  previous  warning. 

Just  how  the  girl  got  in  the  camp  so  early  in 
the  morning  never  has  been  solved.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  she  came  to  the  post  from  the  city  on 
some  daylight  work  train  or  it  may  be  that  she 
spent  the  night  in  one  of  the  numberless  nearby 
villages  and  made  the  trip  into  the  reservation 
in  a  motor  car.  But  anyway  she  was  down  at 
the  station  at  9  in  the  morning  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  worst  downpour  of  the  year. 

On  a  siding  stood  a  long  train  of  tourist  sleep- 
ers and  each  car  was  filled  to  the  last  upper  berth 
with  wet,  soggy,  low  spirited  troops  who  a  half 
hour  before  had  splashed  and  floundered  from 
their  barracks  through  the  rain  on  the  first  leg 
of  their  tedious  journey  to  a  great  training  camp 
somewhere  in  Georgia.  The  engine  ahead  was 
puffing  and  threatening  to  start  and  officers  in 
rubber  hip  boots  and  ponchos  were  hustling 
up  and  down  the  dozen  cars  checking,  compar- 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  2OT 

ing  figures,  receiving  reports  and  finishing  the 
business  of  sending  this  part  of  the  5,000  troops 
to  the  Southern  training  grounds. 

Inside  the  tourist  sleepers  the  soldiers  were 
stripping  themselves  of  their  soggy,  water-soaked 
.garments  and  assisted  by  the  oaths  of  a  score  of 
tongues  were  changing  to  dry  clothing.  Already 
socks  and  undergarments  were  steaming  in  their 
initial  drying  process  and  every  inch  of  steam 
pipe  was  commandeered  for  a  clothes  hne. 

Against  the  window  panes  of  the  cars  the  rain 
spit  and  splattered  and  tattooed  its  ill-pitched 
song.  There  was  nothing  pleasant  about  the 
morning  or  the  job  or  the  young  soldiers  or  the 
future.  From  being  close  to  their  homes  where 
even  a  furlough  of  a  day  once  a  month  lightened 
all  the  intervening  days  they  were  being  shipped 
a  thousand  miles  away  and  from  there  to  France 
and  the  great  question  mark. 

The  whistle  of  the  engine  far  ahead  sent  out 
its  warning.  Even  the  conductor  was  out  in 
the  mad  rain  now,  his  watch  in  his  hand,  con- 
sulting with  one  of  the  wet,  dripping  figures 
crouching  underneath  his  oflScer's  poncho. 


£38      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Then  it  was  that  the  girl  came  running  toward 
the  station,  the  rain  treating  her  no  kindher  than 
the  others.  In  her  right  hand  she  carried  a 
Uttle  black  hat — once  gay  and  dashing  even  if 
it  had  been  the  least  tawdry  and  cheap.  And  the 
black  suit  that  it  had  taken  so  many  weeks  sav- 
ings to  pay  for  had  lost  its  chic  and  stylish  look 
and  was  now  dripping  and  sagging.  The  shoes, 
whose  slate-coloured  high  tops  had  been  so 
swagger  looking  in  the  sales  window,  were  now 
springing  a  dozen  leaks  and  the  paper  soles 
were  hardly  holding  the  water  that  filtered 
through  the  ruined  uppers. 

Rapidly  and  without  thought  or  regard  for 
the  pouring  rain  the  girl  walked  the  length  of  the 
long  train,  peering  eagerly  into  each  car  window. 
Now  and  then  a  hand  waved  at  her  and  through 
the  closed  window  she  could  hear  the  muffled 
echo  of  some  Broadway  born  greeting  and  then 
see  some  strange  face  plastered  against  the  pane 
staring  down  at  her.  But  she  could  not  find 
the  one  she  sought.  Crossing  in  front  of  the 
engine  she  walked  back  down  the  full  length 
of  the  long  train,  feeling  her  way  with  her  soggy 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  239 

shoes  while  her  eyes  were  kept  glued  to  the  win- 
dows of  promise.  But  she  was  disappointed,  and 
when  she  had  reached  the  last  car  she  could  no 
longer  keep  back  the  tears.  For  a  half  minute 
she  stood  silently  crying  in  the  rain  and  then 
started  to  turn  from  the  track  to  the  great 
sprawling  station  house.  But  before  she  had 
taken  two  steps  she  turned  back  and  again 
started  down  the  hne  of  sleeping  cars. 

A  tiny  handkerchief  as  wet  as  the  tears  it  was 
meant  to  dry  was  pressed  to  her  quivering  lips. 
There  was  nothing  determined  nor  desperate 
about  her — she  had  lost,  and  she  was  cold  and 
wet  and  heartbroken,  and  she  was  afraid  she 
never  again  would  see  the  one  for  whom  she  was 
searching. 

And  then  she  heard  a  cry  and  a  car  window 
was  thrown  open.  For  a  second  a  gust  of  wind 
swept  into  the  warm,  inviting  car,  spraying  the 
four  men  in  their  undershirts  who  occupied  the 
section.  But  the  next  moment  most  of  it  was 
broken  by  the  deep  shoulders  of  a  man  filling  the 
window  opening  and  now  leaning  far  out. 

She  cried  out  his  name  and  then  her  arms 


240      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

reached  up  for  him  and  catching  them  he  drew 
her  up;  ruined  black  hat,  dripping  suit  and  all. 
Then  he  lowered  her  to  the  cinders  and  in  a  half 
dozen  seconds  he  had  raced  the  half  length  of 
the  car  to  the  platform  and  reached  her  side. 

For  a  half  minute  the  rain  did  not  beat  against 
her — ^the  olive  drab  flannel  shirt  around  his  great 
shoulders  took  the  shock  of  the  storm,  and  the 
dripping  hair  and  wet  cheeks  found  a  warm 
haven  in  his  arms. 

Far  ahead  an  engine  whistle  sounded — and 
this  time  it  was  more  than  a  warning.  Slowly 
the  train  gathered  itself  up  for  the  long  run  to  the 
southland.  Without  a  wave  of  hand,  a  cheer  or  a 
bon  voyage  the  train  slipped  through  the  storm. 

Suddenly  the  soldier  bent  down  close  to  the 
wet  cheeks  of  the  girl  and  then  releasing  her  ran 
toward  the  train.  His  own  car  had  gone  by; 
the  next  vestibule  was  closed,  and  the  next. 
Then  came  the  last  and  a  soldier  was  aheady 
pulling  up  the  steps.  Half  throwing  himseK  he 
got  aboard. 

Leaning  far  out  he  could  see  a  single  figure 
standing  in  the  storm  by  the  track. 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  241 

For  a  second  he  saw  her  waving,  and  then  he 
saw  her  hands  go  to  her  face,  her  thin  shoulders 
draw  together  in  an  appeahng,  pathetic  posture. 
At  her  feet  lay  the  httle  black  hat,  now  crushed 
and  ruined. 

Swearing  under  his  breath,  he  pulled  the  lever 
that  folded  the  steps  and  closed  the  door. 

5 — ^BiLL  AND  Aleck  do  a  Pink  Tea 

Aleck  and  Bill  came  back  to  camp  to-night  on 
the  first  train  that  left  the  Pennsylvania  Station. 
From  the  time  they  shot  through  the  tunnel 
until  they  reached  Jamaica  neither  said  a  word, 
but  from  the  midway  station  on  conversation 
would  brighten  up  for  a  whole  three  or  four 
minutes  at  a  time. 

"I  never  wanted  to  go  in  that  place  nohow," 
Aleck,  once  famous  whip  on  a  truck  sailing  out 
of  West  street,  whined  to  his  pal  and  comrade 
in  arms.  "I  wanted  to  go  to  some  real  movies; 
but  no,  you  had  to  fall  for  this  free  and  fancy 
dance  stuff.    Talk  about  being  all  out  of  luck." 

Bill,  one  time  riveter  par  excellence  of  the 
Structural  Iron  Workers'  Union,  raised  from  the 


242      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  243 

depths  of  the  ancient  red  upholstery  and  tried 
a  counter  attack.  ''Wasn't  you  willin'  to  go  in 
when  that  there  woman  with  all  them  glass 
diamonds  on  come  out  and  invited  you?"  he 
demanded.  "Didn't  you  say  like  some  regular 
dude,  'sure,  thank  ya,  we'll  be  pleased  to 
come  in.^'  Whatcha  jumpin'  on  me  fur  now, 
any  how  .f^" 

Aleck  took  his  eyes  from  the  dreary  stretch 
of  scrub  oak  and  brown  earth  and  turned  bellig- 
erently toward  his  bunkie.  "First  time  we  been 
in  town  since  Christmas,  and  last  time  we'll 
get  in  fur  a  month,  and  ya  had  to  spoil  it — 
that's  why." 

"What  was  we  figgerin'  on?  What  we  been 
figgerin'  on  fur  three  weeks — ^you  know  it  was 
on  gettin'  a  couple  jiggers  of  old  redeye  and 
seein'  some  of  the  boys  in  the  old  gang  and 
havin'  a  regular  old  time  Saturday  night.  And 
what  did  we  do?  Ugh,  we  didn't  do  nothing 
but  get  mixed  up  in  the  Soldiers'  and  Sailors' 
Friends'  Ladies'  Auxiliary's  dance  and  pink  tea 
fight  and  get  made  a  bunch  of  suckers  out  of— 
that's  what  we  done." 


244       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Bill  sank  back  in  the  antiquated  plush  seat 
that  had  held  up  tired  travellers  since  Garfield 
first  dreamed  of  being  President. 

"I  didn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  it  at  all 
'cept  point  out  the  sign  to  you —  'Soldiers  and 
sailors  welcome;  dancing  and  music  and  a 
splendid  time  promised  all  of  Uncle  Sam's  boys.' 
And  while  we  was  lookin'  at  it  and  that  there 
diamond  woman  come  out  and  ballyhooed  us 
in  you  was  the  guy  what  led  the  way.  Blame  it 
on  yourself." 

This  seemed  to  hold  Aleck  for  a  half  minute, 
but  pretty  soon  he  was  reciting  over  again  his 
wail  of  sorrow. 

"Honest  to  Gawd,"  he  said,  "if  there  was  a 
dame  there  that  wasn't  old  enough  to  have 
voted  for  Bill  Bryan  the  first  time  he  run  for 
President,  then  1  don't  know  nothin'  about 
signs. 

"And  there  was  some  there  old  enough  to  be 
the  mother  of  a  couple  of  Presidents  and  some 
Governors,  who  was  all  camaflouged  up  with 
some  seventeen-year-old  kid's  skirts  and  things 
that  they  musta  borrowed   from  their  grand- 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  245 

children  fur  to  show  us  soldiers  a  good  time 
in." 

Aleck,  his  whip  hand  busy  with  the  curtain 
snap,  turned  again  to  Bill.  "Know  what  one 
of  'em  said  to  me?  Well,  she  said:  ^Oh,  we 
think  you  brave  soldier  boys  are  jest  the  loveliest 
things  and  us  girls  are  trying  to  do  our  bit  by 
making  you  happy.  Won't  you  dance  this'n 
with  me?"' 

Aleck  swore  softly  in  memory,  and  then  re- 
gaining his  control  continued:  "And  I  done  it. 
Holy  Smoke!  It  were  the  kind  of  a  dance  that 
you  would  expect  a  preacher  to  trot  with  the 
rich  old  lady  who  is  paying  most  of  his  salary. 
And  all  the  time  this  dame  with  the  kittenish 
dress  was  sayin'  that  they  had  only  the  very 
nicest  girls  come  to  meet  the  soldiers,  and  that 
they  really  like  to  have  each  strange  soldier 
bring  a  letter  of  introduction  from  his  regimental 
chaplain. 

"Get  that,  Bill — me  bring  them  dames  a 
letter  from  my  regimental  chaplain — ^"the  bearer 
of  this  here  letter  is  a  soldier  in  the  306th  In- 
fantry, and  he  is  a  nice  young  man  and  don't 


246      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

swear,  use  tobacco  or  likker  in  no  form  and 
ain't  never  been  A.  W.  O.  L.  only  onst,  and  he 
loves  his  Colonel  and  Col.  Vidmer  loves  him 
and  he's  city  broke  and  will  drive  double  and 
ain't  afraid  of  no  automobiles  or  engynes,  and 
will  stand  without  hitchin'. 

"Or  they  might  give  you  a  letter  sayin'  that 
onst  you  was  the  best  riveter  in  all  Fourteenth 
street,  but  now  that  you  was  a  man-eatin'  soldier 
who  had  killed  all  the  Huns  in  Long  Island  and 
was  going  to  start  in  and  finish  up  Manhattan 
but  that  w^hen  it  come  to  wimmin  you  was  as 
gentle  as  a — ^w^ell,  as  a  Y.  M.  C.  A.  worker  used 
to  be  before  the  war  and  before  they  got  in  all 
them  two  fisted  regular  gents." 

Bill  straightened  up  at  this.  "Well,  how 
about  what  them  dames  done  to  me.^"  he  de- 
manded. "The  one  I  drawed  started  out  by 
sayin'  that  they  did  not  allow  no  jazz  music 
no  more  because  some  of  the  soldier  boys  was 
likely  to  get  a  little  'tomboyish'  and  so  they 
was  not  allowin'  nothin'  now  but  just  some  mild, 
unfermented  fox  trots  and  some  two  steps  and 
waltzes.    Then  she  said  that  they  had  to  have 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  247 

three  chaperons  aceordin'  to  the  rules  and  regu- 
lations and  that  everything  was  off  except  the 
lid — at  11  o'clock. 

"Then  I  said  to  her  that  I  reckoned  that  they 
would  not  never  have  no  trouble  getting  soldiers, 
and  sailors  too,  for  that  matter,  to  stop  dancing 
at  11  o'clock  easy  enough.  But  that  there  dame 
only  laughed  and  when  we  was  through  she 
asked  me  if  I  wanted  anything  to  drink." 

Bill  waited  for  a  half  dozen  seconds  before 
continuing.  ''Well,  I  tried  not  to  act  too  ex- 
cited when  she  led  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  hall 
up  to  that  there  flowing  bowl.  There  ain't  no 
use  of  tellin'  more  about  it  to  you,  Aleck,  be- 
cause you  was  there  when  I  arrived.  An'  you 
know  as  well  as  I,  Aleck,  that  it  did  not  have  no 
more  authority  in  it  than  a  lance  corporal — ^no 
authority  at  all." 

Silence  and  a  deep  understanding  between 
the  two  pals  whose  cots  were  together  and  who 
soon  would  be  fighting  shoulder  to  shoulder 
in  a  treneh  in  France.  Slowly  the  train  jogged 
and  jostled  into  a  spur  and  then  slid  into  the  great 
army  reservation.     Then  Bill  broke  the  peace. 


us      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"An'  there's  nineteen  different  furrin  officers 
out  in  this  here  camp  teachin'  us  how  to  shoot 
and  stab  and  choke  and  beat  them  Huns  to 
death — and  here  all  them  dames  in  New  York 
is  trying  to  make  us  nice  little  boys  that  would 
not  think  of  dancin'  to  no  rough  jazz  tunes  or 
naughty  fox  trots.  War  sure  do  a  lot  of  foolish 
things — don't  she,  Aleck?  " 

Aleck  slowly  turned  back  to  his  view  of  what 
had   once   been   scrub   oak   and   brown   earth. 

"She  sure  does,  Billy,"  he  muttered  and  then 
settled  down  to  a  long  silent  retrospect  of  the 
days  that  were — ^when  drinks  had  authority 
and  jazz  tunes  were  pleasant  and  popular. 

6 — ^At  the  Sign  of  the  Red  Triangle 

But  strange  as  well  are  the  trains  that  come 
to  camp,  bringing  as  they  do  their  weirdly 
assorted  and  motley  crowd  of  passengers. 

A  trim  young  soldier  returning  from  a  special 
midweek  leave  of  absence  shares  his  seat  with  a 
little  old  woman  with  a  shawl  around  her  head 
who  is  on  her  way  to  see  her  soldier  son,  ill  in  the 
great  hospital.     A  labourer  shares  an  old-fash- 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  249 

ioned  red  plush  cushion  with  a  Sergeant-Major 
of  the  British  Army,  a  bayonet  instructor,  whose 
breast  is  covered  with  service  ribbons  of  half 
forgotten  wars  and  British  victories. 

Each  is  bound  on  his  own  errand  of  hfe  or 
death  or  mercy  or  hope  or  abandon  to  this 
sprawling,  fascinating  camp,  and  each  has  a 
story  well  worth  the  telling  if  it  could  but  be 
garnered — a  story  probably  as  impelling  and 
dramatic  as  the  story  the  old  man  with  the 
patriarchal  beard  told  to  the  secretary  of  the 
negro  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

The  car  was  crowded  and  the  two  had  been 
fortunate  in  finding  an  unoccupied  seat.  As  the 
train  ducked  under  the  East  River  and  then, 
coming  up  for  air  on  the  opposite  shore,  shot  its 
way  across  Long  Island  the  old  man  silently  let 
his  fingers  play  through  his  long  snow  white  beard 
while  he  gazed  intently  out  of  the  window.  The 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretary  opened  his  magazine  and 
turning  to  a  half  finished  article,  began  reading. 

Presently  the  old  man  let  his  eyes  take  in  his 
seat  companion.  He  saw  that  the  young  negro 
was  clothed  in  a  slate  grey  uniform  cut  closely 


250      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

after  English  military  models,  and  on  his  left 
sleeve  was  a  red  triangle. 

"The  uniform,  it  is  of  the  army?  No?"  he 
asked  politely  of  the  negro. 

"No,  sir;  it  is  of  the  army  Y.  M.  C.  A.,"  came 
the  answer.  "My  name  is  Selden,  and  I  am  in 
charge  of  the  coloured  men's  branch  of  the 
Camp  Upton  Y.  M.  C.  A." 

"A  pleasure  this  is,  a  great  pleasure.  If  there 
is  anything  that  I,  an  orthodox  Jew,  am  grate- 
ful for  it  is  the  Christian  army  Y.  M.  C.  A.  and 
its  work  among  the  soldiers.  I  owe  a  great  deal 
to  it — ^I  owe  for  the  life  of  my  son.  I  will  tell 
you  why." 

And  then  into  the  ears  of  this  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
army  secretary  there  poured  from  the  lips  of 
this  ancient  orthodox  Jew,  born  in  Russia,  the 
story  of  how  a  great  human  training  camp 
leavened  by  a  Christian  organisation  had  turned 
the  hate  and  fear  and  anger  in  a  boy's  heart  to 
love  and  respect  and  determination. 

"He  said  he  would  never  fight,"  the  old  man 
went  on,  his  voice  breaking  now  and  again  as 
he  recalled  his  own  anguish  and  hopelessness. 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  251 

"He  said  he  would  shoot  himself  before  he  would 
shoot  another  human  being.  We  could  do 
nothing  with  him.  He  belonged  to  some  society 
on  the  East  Side  where  they  told  all  to  despise 
the  Government  and  talked  far  too  much  for 
young  men,  and  when  he  came  down  in  Septem- 
ber he  was  sick  with  hate  that  first  day  he  went 
to  this  place,  Company  B  in  the  307th  Infantry. 

"His  mother,  she  wrote  him  every  day  and 
told  him  to  be  a  good  boy  and  obey  the  officers. 
But  his  letters  that  came  back  during  the  first 
days  were  filled  with  vows  that  he  would  never 
be  made  a  soldier.  He  wrote  that  he  hated 
the  army  and  the  life  and  that  he  would  never 
go  to  France  and  help  pay  back  the  Govern- 
ment for  all  that  it  had  done  for  us. 

"We  did  not  sleep  at  nights  for  fear  that  he 
would  do  what  he  had  promised,  and  every  time 
the  doorbell  rang  we  were  afraid  to  answer  lest 
it  be  a  telegram  saying  that  our  boy  was  dead." 

The  old  man  slowly  shook  his  head  as  those 
tragic  laden  days  and  nights  spent  in  the  little 
apartment  trailed  vividly  by  before  his  mind's 
eye.    Then  shortly  he  went  on. 


252      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Then  one  day  his  mother  received  a  letter 
that  was  far  different  from  what  any  of  the 
others  had  been.  The  envelope  had  a  little  red 
thing  like  that  on  your  sleeve  and  the  letter  said 
he  would  be  home  for  two  days  beginning  Sat- 
urday and  that  he  was  well.  His  mother  she 
wept  for  joy  when  she  read  that  and  we  knew 
something  had  happened. 

"And  that  Saturday  when  he  came  home  he 
told  us  what  it  was.  He  had  gone  into  one  of 
your  Y.  M.  C.  A.  camp  houses  discouraged  and 
heart  sick  and  there  a  fine  young  man  behind  a 
desk  had  spoken  kindly  to  him  and  given  him 
paper  and  envelopes  and  pointed  out  the  maga- 
zines and  offered  him  a  book  and  showed  him 
how  to  run  the  talking  machine. 

"He  stayed  there  an  hour  and  then  when  he 
returned  to  his  company  house  the  hate  had 
gone  out  of  his  heart  and  that  night  he  sang  with 
the  other  soldiers  and  played  with  them.  And 
the  next  day  he  began  to  make  friends  and  to 
catch  the  spirit  of  this  great  army.  And  he  told 
us  that  he  did  not  mind  drilling  now  and  that 
everything  was  different.    He  sees  that  America 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  253 

is  in  the  right  and  he  is  wiUing  to  help  her  win 
freedom  for  all  the  peoples  of  the  world.  He  is 
happy — and  it  was  the  Army  Y.  M.  C.  A.  that 
pointed  out  the  way.    I  am  in  deep  debt  to  you." 

A  whistle  far  ahead  sounded  and  then  the 
air  brakes  bit  in  and  the  train  slowly  stopped. 
The  battle  scarred  British  sergeant-major 
hustled  into  his  overcoat  and  made  for  the  door. 
The  httle  old  woman  with  the  shawl  around  her 
head  waddled  toward  the  entrance,  followed  by 
the  soldier  carrying  her  black  emigrant  bag. 
Then  the  patriarch  with  the  long  white  beard 
made  his  way  down  the  aisle,  with  the  Y.  M. 
C.  A.  army  secretary  close  behind. 

Half  way  down  the  station  platform  an  up- 
standing young  soldier  stepped  up  to  the  old 
man  and  kissed  him.  Then  he  hooked  his  arm 
through  the  father's  and  led  him  toward  the  long 
row  of  army  barracks. 

''The  Captain  told  me  to-day  I  would  be  a 
corporal  soon.  Think,  papa,  a  corporal!  Stripes 
on  my  sleeves!" 

And  the  old  man  tried  to  answer  back,  but 
after   an   unsuccessful   second  reached   up   and 


254      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

patted  on  the  back  the  boy  who  had  found 
himself. 

7 — ^Bennie  Joins  Out 

But  the  coloured  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretarj^  and 
the  Jewish  patriarch  are  only  one  of  a  thousand 
queer  pairs  that  this  whirlpool  of  army  Ufe 
daily  throws  together. 

"On  the  level,  am  I  dreamin'  or  is  all  this 
blowout  real  stuff?"  Private  Bennie  Farley, 
brand  new  rookie,  pinched  himself  on  the  left 
arm  and  solemnly  addressed  Private  Steve  Gish, 
both  members  of  this  Upton  club  and  fellow 
soldiers  in  arms  of  Company  F,  306th  Infantry, 
National  Army  of  Freedom. 

"Give  it  to  me  straight,  Steve.  Am  I  being 
kidded  or  did  all  them  guys  really  give  that 
layout  to  us  to-night?"  he  went  on.  "It  don't 
seem  possible  after  all  the  knockin'  I  heard  in 
the  city  about  this  place — it  just  don't  seem  that 
it  could  happen  when  I  expected  to  get  fed 
horse  meat  and  sleep  in  a  barn." 

Private  Steve,  with  full  three  months  service 
chalked  up  in  his  favour  and  with  all  the  army 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  ^55 

wisdom  and  side  that  the  knowledge  of  being 
one  of  the  real  old  soldiers  in  camp  would  give 
him,  promptly  calmed  Private  Farley's  doubts. 

"Sure  that's  the  way  Company  F  does,"  he 
calmly  announced.  *'We  get  the  right  spirit 
dee  corpse  in  this  outfit.  And  when  we  get  a 
man  we  don't  like  we  get  him  sent  some  place 
else.  Didn't  ya  ever  hear  of  our  Capt — Captain 
Johnstone — in  the  city.^^  Honest,  didn't  you.^ 
And  didn't  ya  ever  hear  of  our  Old  Man — Col. 
Vidmer?  And  the  finest  bunch  of  lootenantsin 
the  whole  army.  Didn't  my  own  platoon  leader 
tell  the  Major  the  other  day  that  he  didn't  want 
no  promotion  if  he  had  to  leave  us  fellows.^ 
That  shows  you  what  kinda  spirit  dee  corpse 
we  got  in  Old  F." 

Private  Bennie  Farley  sat  open  mouthed  on 
his  cot  and  let  these  pearls  of  old  army  lore 
spray  him.  And  then  a  little  later,  while  Steve 
slipped  down  to  have  a  good-night  cigarette,  he 
reviewed,  like  one  in  a  daze,  the  tremendous 
span  of  events  that  had  whirled  by  him  the  past 
few"  days. 

It  had  been  a  wonderful  week.     Brought  down 


256      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

from  the  city  in  one  of  the  week's  quotas  of 
selected  men,  he  had  been  marched  directly  to 
this  warm,  friendly  barracks  as  a  casual  soldier. 
Two  days  later  it  was  announced  to  him  that  he 
was  permanently  assigned  to  this  very  infantry 
company  and  that  same  afternoon  he  and  the 
fifty  odd  ex-casuals  with  him  had  been  taken  to 
the  regimental  "Q.  M."  depot  and  immediately 
had  been  issued  long,  warm  army  overcoats. 
The  rest  of  his  uniform,  he  had  been  told,  would 
be  given  him  shortly,  but  the  weather  being  so 
extremely  cold  it  had  been  arranged  to  furnish 
the  necessary  warm  great  coats  at  once. 

The  next  morning,  he  recalled,  he  had  been 
given  his  first  lessons  in  drilling,  and  although 
the  old  men  in  the  company  joked  about  the 
"'awkward  squad"  he  had  not  minded  it  in  the 
least,  and  in  truth  had  really  had  a  bully  good 
time  learning  the  elementary  steps  in  how  to  be 
a  soldier. 

And  during  these  first  few  days  he  remembered 
now  that  he  had  been  greatly  surprised  and 
infinitely  pleased  at  the  big,  strapping,  whole- 
some meals  that  had  been  served,  and  even  after 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  257 

one  or  two  tries  had  suddenly  lost  all  resentment 
at  having  to  wash  his  own  aluminum  dishes  and 
eating  tools.  And  then,  too,  he  had  found  that 
the  beds  were  comfortable  and  the  three  heavy 
wool  blankets  that  Uncle  Sam  gives  out,  with  a 
thick,  old-fashioned  gay  comforter  as  extra 
measure,  had  kept  him  as  warm  as  toast. 

But  all  this  musing  only  led  down  or  up  to 
this  night  of  nights  itself.  It  was  one  of  the 
sergeants,  he  guessed,  who  had  told  him  about 
the  big  blowout  to  be  tended  the  new  arrivals, 
and  it  was  this  same  sergeant  who  had  tied  the 
cardboard  slip  with  his  name  written  on  it,  to 
his  right  arm. 

And  then,  with  all  the  drills  and  inspection 
and  retreat  over,  the  party  had  opened  at  5:30 
with  the  half  hundred  new  men  being  escorted 
into  the  company  mess  hall.  Each  of  the  rookies 
had  been  carefully  placed  between  two  old  men 
and  he  remembered  that  he  had  figured  that  it 
was  just  hke  having  a  birthday  party  or  some- 
thing like  that.  Steve  had  been  on  his  right 
and  already  he  and  Steve  were  old  army  pals, 
ready  to  go  to  the  final  limit  for  each  other. 


258      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

And  after  supper  a  jazz  band  from  the  negro 
regiment  had  entertained  with  different  brands 
of  noise,  and  Private  George  Randall  of  the  same 
regiment  had  clog  danced  simply  all  over  the 
place.  And  then  had  come  a  part  of  the  joy 
evening  that  still  sent  a  great  thrill  through  him. 

A  big,  friendly-looking  man,  with  a  funny 
Uttle  gold  leaf  pinned  on  his  shoulder  straps, 
who  Steve  had  said  was  Major  Bozeman  Bulger, 
had  given  a  fine,  welcoming  talk  to  Bennie  and 
his  fifty  rookie  pals,  and  had  told  them  and 
the  older  men  of  the  regiment  how  the  army 
breeds  friendship,  and  whatever  of  privations 
and  sacrifices  it  demands  it  returns  in  a  deep 
feeling  of  brotherhood  and  respect  and  love. 
And  even  then  he  remembered  he  felt  instantly 
a  great  surge  of  loyalty  and  respect  for  this  man, 
whom  some  day  not  so  far  distant  he  would 
actually  fight  under  and  for. 

Then  a  short,  solid  looking,  foreign  oflScer  in 
a  sky  blue  uniform,  who  was  introduced  as  Lieu- 
tenant Geismar  of  the  corps  of  French  army 
instructors  attached  to  the  camp,  spoke  of  this 
same  great  brotherhood  and  democracy  of  the 


MOTLEY  MEASURES  259 

trenches.  Then  last  had  come  a  smihng  young 
soldier  who  had  paid  dearly  for  his  patriotism. 

"Private  Sidney  Cramp,  of  the  British  army," 
Lieutenant  M.  J.  Hayes,  who  had  charge  of  the 
party,  had  introduced  him,  and  with  the  arm 
that  had  been  half  shot  away  hanging  helpless 
at  his  side,  he  told  from  the  plain  fighting 
soldier's  viewpoint  what  friendliness  and  brother- 
hood meant  to  the  men  in  the  heart  of  the  fight- 
ing. Two  years  and  a  half  in  the  mud  and 
danger  and  horror  of  the  front-line  trenches  had 
given  him  much  to  tell,  and  yet  it  had  left  him 
believing  infinitely  more  in  this  same  brother- 
hood and  fellowship  and  the  need  for  it  in  life 
and  war. 

Then  there  had  come  ice  cream  and  cake — 
all  served  by  the  old  men,  the  veterans  of  three 
months  of  training — and  then  more  music,  with 
George  Randall,  chocolate  coloured  and  grin- 
ning, clogging  out  his  very  heart.  And  then 
Bennie  had  wandered  up  to  the  great  open, 
friendly  living  room,  upstairs,  and  now  was  try- 
ing to  figure  it  all  out. 

'*Well,  pal,  let's  turn  in,"  suggested  Steve, 


^60      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

blowing  from  the  chill  of  his  outdoor  smoke. 

"She's  been  a  big  night,  ain't  she?" 

"She  sure  has,  Steve,  old  pal;  she  sure  has." 
And  Private  Bennie,  looking  up  at  his  three 

hour    old    "old"    pal    with    growing    affection, 

nodded  slowly  in  the  affirmative. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

SERVICE  RIBBONS 


CHAPTER  TEN 

SERVICE  RIBBONS 

1 — ^The  Sport  of  Kings 

IN  a  thousand  articles  and  books  and  stories 
we  have  been  told  that  this  is  "a  young 
man's  war" — ^that  trench  warfare,  with  its 
bombs  and  bayonet  charges  and  mortars  and 
star  shells  and   all  the  rest,  are  of  ^^ 

and  for  a  new  generation  of  fighting  j^^ 

men.     And  we  have  been  told  that  *. 

young  officers  do  best  in  the  pinch  \:^ 

and  that  they  can  stand  the  strain  /^ 

under  which  men  with  grey  about 
their  temples  and  service  ribbons 
above  the  left  pocket  of  their  army 
blouses  break  down. 

For  the  most  part,  the  men  whom 
France  and  the  British  Empire  have  been  good 
enough  to  send  to  teach  us  the  last  word  in  straf- 
ing the  German,  have  run  true  to  form.    Both  the 

263 


264      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

oflScers  and  non-coms  have  been  the  trim,  young 
soldiers  that  we  have  expected.  The  blue  of 
the  French  uniform  has  been  the  dashing  sky 
blue  of  the  sweet  days  of  peace.  The  olive  drab 
of  the  Britishers  has  been  set  off  with  the  gal- 
lant Sam  Brown  belt,  with  the  proper  touch 
added  by  the  swagger  cane.  And  there  have 
been  crosses  of  war  and  medals  of  honour  and 
little  gold  stripes  on  the  sleeves  to  signify  their 
years  of  service  in  the  trenches. 

Some  of  these  officers  were  schoolboys  when 
the  great  war  started,  and  all  they  know  of  the 
army  that  Kipling  loved  and  immortalised  was 
what  they  have  read  in  the  "Plain  Tales  of  the 
Hills." 

But  among  these  olive  drab  clad  Britishers  is 
one  to  whom  the  name  Lord  Roberts  means 
more  than  the  memory  of  an  old  man  who 
could  only  look  on — ^rather  it  calls  up  the  pic- 
ture of  a  fighting  soldier,  the  "Bobs"  of  the 
Soudan  and  India.  And  the  name  Kitchener 
means  more  than  the  genius  behind  a  desk  in 
the  War  Office,  but  a  soldier  on  horseback — 
Kitchener  of  Khartum. 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  ^Q5 

For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  name 
of  Sergeant-Major  G.  C.  Covington  has  been 
down  on  the  Hsts  of  the  British  army — ^twenty- 
eight  years  in  active  service  and  five  on  the 
reserve  hsts.  In  India  and  in  South  Africa  and 
pretty  much  everywhere  the  royal  standard 
floats,  Sergeant-Major  Covington  had  done  his 
bit  to  see  that  the  sun  never  set  on  British 
territory. 

And  old  in  years  and  old  in  service  he  had 
retired  eight  years  ago  on  a  comfortable  pensibn, 
and  with  more  than  enough  ribbons  to  pin  across 
his  breast  on  special  gala  days.  But  to  keep 
his  hand  in,  the  Sergeant-Major  had  gone  in  for 
auctioneering  as  a  side  line  along  with  his  soldier 
yarning. 

It  was  light  work  and  pleasant  and  added  a 
tidy  sum  to  the  pension  that  a  kindly  but  none 
too  generous  Government  gave  him.  Alto- 
gether, what  with  his  decorations  and  his  tales 
and  his  auctioneering  wit,  this  old  British 
soldier  was  quite  a  personage  in  his  own 
bailiwick. 

Then  out  of  a  tempest  in  a  teapot  of  trade- 


266      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

union  strikes  and  home  rule  squabbles  and 
Asquith  fights  had  popped  the  great  war.  And 
to  old  Sergeant-Ma j or  Covington,  retired,  came 
the  smoke  of  battle  and  the  call  to  arms. 

Immediately  he  enlisted  and  was  sent  to  his 
old  battleground  in  South  Africa  to  recruit  vol- 
unteers and  hunt  out  German  spies.  Then  back 
to  the  British  Isles  and  away  to  the  front  line 
trenches  in  France  with  his  own  beloved  Duke 
of  Cornwall  regiment. 

"When  I  got  me  first  'un  I  loses  me  bayonet 
and  I  goes  'ead  over  'ead  in  the  trench,"  he  ex- 
plained to  a  group  of  oflficers  in  his  bayonet  lec- 
tures out  at  this  camp  this  afternoon.  "Al- 
ways withdraw  with  care — 'at  's  harf  the  game. 
I  'ad  to  go  back  and  get  me  gun  and  bayonet 
that  time  I  got  me  first  'un — and  I  did  not  'ave 
no  hinclination  to  heither." 

A  year  in  the  trenches  and  then  Sergeant- 
Major  Covington — somehow  you  wouldn't  any 
more  think  of  calling  this  old  war  horse  without 
his  full  title  than  you  would  a  British  staff 
Colonel  by  his  first  name — was  attached  to 
General   Headquarters   and   assigned   to   teach 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  267 

bayonet  work  to  officers  and  N.  C.  O.'s  at  the 
great  English  training  camps. 

By  some  pecuhar  twist  the  knack  of  instilHng 
fight  and  confidence  in  men  was  his  and  conse- 
quently he  was  tremendously  effective  as  a  bay- 
onet instructor.  And  so  it  happened  that  when 
our  ally  decided  to  send  us  the  best  of  her  finest 
experts  Sergeant-Major  Covington  was  chosen 
with  one  other  non-com.  bayonet  expert  to  come 
to  America.  And  Camp  Upton  was  fortunate 
enough  to  win  him. 

Thirty -two  officers  and  non-coms,  ranging 
from  Lieutenant-Colonels  to  swagger  young 
Sergeants,  were  grouped  about  him  this  after- 
noon. Each  man  carried  a  Lee-Enfield  with  a 
naked  bayonet  in  place.  In  front  were  a  row 
of  wooden  gibbets  with  dummies  hanging  in  the 
middle  of  each. 

"Carry  on  till  I  tells  you  'tention,"  he  ordered, 
and  when  Lieutenant-Colonels  and  Sergeants 
alike  looked  at  him  without  the  faintest  under- 
standing as  to  what  he  meant — ^he  carefully  ex- 
plained: "Carry  on — carry  on — do  any  bloody 
thing  you  care  to  do — do  what  you  been  doin'. 


268      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Don't  you  know  what  'carry  on'  is?  If  you're 
playin'  you  carry  on — and  if  yer  fightin'  you 
carry  on.  When  I  blows  me  whistle  stand  where 
you  are  at  'tention.  Then  when  I  says  Tall  in!' 
you  falls  in  'ere  in  front  of  me  and  to  me  right." 

For  a  second  this  sturdy,  red  faced  old  soldier, 
with  the  knotty,  powerful  legs,  just  bowed 
enough  to  give  the  proper  swag  and  class, 
fingered  his  whistle.  Then  he  stopped  and, 
turning  to  the  group  of  men  who  in  a  few  days 
longer  will  in  turn  teach  this  wickedest  but  most 
necessary  of  all  man-killing  arts  to  the  rest  of 
the  regiment,  called  them  about  him. 

''It's  the  'eart  that  does  it,  men,"  he  began. 
"You  'ave  to  know  you're  a  better  man  than  'e 
is.  Bayonet  fightin'  is  the  sport  of  kings — ^and 
your  own  life — ^and  that  of  all  the  civilized  world 
depends  on  'ow  well  you  do  it.  It's  cruel  and 
hard,  but  remember  the  'uns  broke  every 
known  law  of  civilized  warfare.  An'  remember 
you're  not  fightin'  one  man  but  millions.  It's 
the  'eart  that  wins." 

And  then  came  the  practice  formation,  with 
the  description  of  the  vulnerable  parts  of  a  man. 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  269 

and  then  the  actual  bayonet  drill — ^and  all  car- 
ried on  in  the  way  that  only  a  sergeant-major  of 
the  British  Army  of  Lord  Roberts'  day  could 
give  it.  Officers  and  non-coms,  were  alike  told 
how  impossible  they  were  and  how  *' perfectly 
rottin'  "  their  work  was.  No  Brigadier  ever 
was  more  self-certain — or  more  effective. 

"Now,  when  I  soiy  "igh  port'  don't  'old  your 
gun  loike  a  bloody  banjo  and  when  I  soiy  'on 
guard'  don't  'old  it  loike  a  bloomin'  swagger 
stick,  but  in  a  threatenin'  hattitude.  And  when 
I  soiy  'meuve,'  why,  meuve.  Don't  stand 
there  loike  a  lot  of  bally  hasses — ^meuve!" 

And  so  like  a  football  coach  worrying  over 
his  men,  bullying  them  and  then  complimenting 
them  ever  so  little,  Sergeant-Ma j or  Covington 
led  this  group  of  American  officers  over  their 
first  jumps  in  the  manly  art  of  bayonet  fighting 
a  la  British. 

For  two  hours  and  a  half  they  practised  ''high 
port"  and  "on  guard"  and  how  to  properly 
hold  the  gun  at  "charge" — "Aim  it  at  me  neck 
and  look  loike  you  meant  murder!"  he  shouted. 

And  then  came  the  test,  the  charge  itself. 


270      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Advancing  at  "high  port"  on  the  run,  the 
men  of  his  command  lowered  their  bayonets 
and  with  a  great  cry  charged.  It  sent  a  thrill 
of  terror  and  appreciation  into  every  one  of  the 
half  thousand  spectators  banked  about  the 
practice  ground.  It  appeared  to  be  a  wonder- 
ful charge — superperfect  charge. 

"Perfectly  rottin',  perfectly  rottin'."  Ser- 
geant-Ma j  or  Covington  shook  his  head  in  de- 
spair. "You're  dismissed  until  to-morrow!"  he 
roared. 

The  once  carefully  groomed  ends  of  his  great 
army  mustachio  were  shaggy  and  tired  looking. 
His  florid,  British  complexion  was  three  shades 
deeper  red  and  there  was  honestly  earned  per- 
spiration over  his  face. 

"Perfectly  rottin',"  he  repeated  half  to  him- 
self. And  then  he  added.  "But  oh,  what 
sogers  they  will  make — oh,  man,  what  sogers!" 

2 — "When  Fightin'  was  Fightin'  " 

"What  sogers  they  are"  some  might  even 
say — for  in  these  40,000  young  bloods  are  many 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  271 

who  have  known  the  smoke  of  battle.  Young 
these  soldiers  are  in  years,  but  still  they  are  old 
soldiers — and  they  have  fought  all  around  the 
seven  seas  and  the  two  hemispheres. 

**I  was  going  to  be  made  a  General  and  Pana- 
ma Bob  he  was  going  to  be  Secretary  of  War, 
and  Schweitzer  Bill  he  was  going  to  be  Admiral 
in  the  Nicaraguan  Navy,  and  we  was  all  going 
to  have  gold  lace  all  over  us  when  we  captured 
Managua." 

Sergeant  Emil  Welt,  one  time  cadet  in  the 
Rumanian  Military  Academy,  later  Corporal  in 
the  French  Foreign  Legion,  later  soldier  of 
fortune  and  filibuster  in  the  Nicaraguan  service, 
and  at  present  of  Company  H,  305th  Infantry, 
Army  of  Freedom,  was  holding  forth  in  his  bar- 
racks to  an  audience,  kindly  but  doubtful,  seated 
on  the  nearby  bunks. 

**  Things  was  getting  warm  for  us  down  in 
Panama,  so  Schweitzer  Bill,  he  says,  'Let's  be 
sojers  again,'  and  there  being  very  little  high 
grade  fighting  at  that  time,  we  opened  negotia- 
tions for  a  cheap  little  revolution  down  Managua 
way.     The  head  revolutor  was  a  feller  named 


272      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Gen.  Corlez  and  he  promised  us  a  hundred 
bucks  gold  a  month  and  loot  and  was  going  to 
make  me  a  General. 

''Well,  we  fell  for  this,  so  the  General  loads 
us  up  on  a  tugboat  and  we  goes  from  Balboa, 
Panama  to  San  Juan  Del  Sur — 
that's  in  Nicaragua.  There  was  a 
couple  hundred  of  us,  and  we  was 
mostly  some  birds,  I  want  to 
state,  and  old  Gen.  Corlez,  if  he 
wern't  a  regular  bird  of  paradise 
I  don't  know  one  when  I  sees  it. 
He  had  a  purple  dress  coat  that 
must  a  belonged  to  some  Chilean 
Admiral.  It  was  mostly  faded 
and  it  only  had  one  epaulette,  and  that  one  was 
about  as  big  as  a  half  bushel  basket  and  so 
heavy  it  drawed  his  left  shoulder  down. 

"And  he  has  a  pair  of  trick  pants,  but  he 
wasn't  much  there  when  it  come  to  shoes.  He 
was  wearing  mostly  a  pair  of  native  sandals 
that  they  call  garuches  that  he  had  stole  from 
a  sailor  on  the  tugboat.  Taking  by  and  large 
he  was  some  General." 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  273 

Sergeant  Welt  stopped  long  enough  in  his 
tale  of  loot  to  borrow  a  cigarette  and  a  light. 
Then  he  continued  with  more  abandon. 

"And  I  might  add  right  at  this  point  that 
were  some  army  that  he  had,  too.  Take  Pana- 
ma Bob  Brown,  for  a  sample.  Now  Panama 
Bob  right  to-day  is  a  highly  respectable  keeper 
of  a  gin  mill  in  Red  Hook,  Brooklyn,  but  in  the 
early  days  Panama  Bob  wasn't  a  keeper  of  noth- 
ing much  but  somebody  else's  gin.  And  Panama 
Bob  was  going  to  be  made  Secretary  of  War! 
Think  of  that,  would ja!  Then  there  was 
Schweitzer  Bill.  Bill  had  callouses  on  his 
knuckles  from  busting  jaws  and  wasn't  nothin' 
pleasant  to  meet  in  a  dark  alley.  And  Bill,  he 
were  going  to  be  made  admiral!  They  was 
samples  of  this  here  army — and  they  was  two 
hundred  of  'em,  half  white  and  half  otherwise. 
And  the  whites  was  all  oJSicers." 

"What  was  you  Sarge,  Lieutenant-General.^" 
asked  an  obliging  private  at  this  stage. 

"I  was  going  to  be  one  when  we  took  Mana- 
gua. But  right  then  I  was  only  a  colonel.  You 
see,   there   were   about   twenty   generals,   forty 


274      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

colonels,  thirty  majors  and  ten  captains.  No- 
body wanted  much  to  be  a  captain,  and  I  bein' 
only  eighteen  years  old,  they  wouldn't  let  me 
be  nothin'  but  a  colonel.  But  at  that  I  had  a 
major  and  a  captain  and  one  nigger  private 
under  me — ^but  I  didn't  have  no  sword.  Old 
Gen.  Corlez  he  had  the  only  sword  in  the  whole 
army  and  it  were  some  sword — ^five  feet  long, 
rusty  and  it  must  a  weighed  about  forty -five 
pounds.  Along  about  3  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon the  General  he  would  get  tired  packin'  it, 
and  then  he  would  let  some  of  the  other  brigadier 
generals  pack  it,  and  once  in  a  while  he  would 
even  let  a  colonel  carry  it." 

"Comic  opera  stuff,  eh.?"  the  same  obliging 
army  private  interrupted. 

"Sure,  but  even  a  gasolene  circuit  outfit, 
playing  the  'Isle  of  Spice,'  never  had  no  such 
uniforms,  nur  smell,  nur  equipment,  nur  a  col- 
lection of  ofiicers  like  we  did.  There  was  every 
kind  of  a  gun  that  could  be  stole  and  some  that 
was  even  given  to  us — ^blunderbusses,  muzzle 
loaders,  breech  loaders  and  some  that  you 
couldn't  even  load  at  all.     I  had  one  of  them 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  275 

last  kind.  She  were  a  French  make  Lebel  rifle, 
and  fur  ammunition  I  had  two  bandeleros  full 
of  Mauser  cartridges  that  wouldn't  no  more  fit 
that  old  girl  than  a  three  inch  shell  would  a 
navy  one-pounder. 

"And  for  eats  it  were  mostly  platinas — ^that's 
Nicaraguan  fur  bananas — ^and  frijoles  y  tortillas 
— ^which  is  beans  and  tortillas.  I  mean,  we  et 
them  when  we  was  lucky.  You  see,  what  we 
done  mostly  was  to  cut  our  way  through  the 
tropical  forest  runnin'  from  the  coast  back  in- 
land with  our  matchettes,  gettin'  volunteers 
and  what  we  could  eat  as  we  went  along.  Most 
of  the  volunteers  come  along  with  us  with  ropes 
and  most  of  the  food  that  was  give  us  we  just 
naturally  took. " 

The  obliging  private  stepped  in  again.  "How 
about  loot,  Sarge?" 

"Loot.^  How  can  you  loot  when  there  ain't 
nothin'  fit  to  loot.^^  Them  natives  down  there 
was  safe,  fur  they  didn't  have  nothin'  at  all — 
not  even  clothes — ^that  we  could  steal.  And 
sometimes  we  was  so  powerful  hungry  we  would 
all  but  et  the  natives  themselves." 


276      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

It  looked  now  as  if  Sergeant  Welt  was  getting 
down  to  the  climax  of  his  yarn,  so  Sergeant 
Daniel  J.  Patterson  contributed  a  fresh  cigarette. 

''Three  months  that  army  plotted  its  way 
through  the  tropical  fastnesses  of  dark  Nicara- 
gua toward  Managua.  One  evening  when  our 
army  had  growed  to  about  a  thousand  men  we 
camped  in  a  little  Indian  village,  and  there  we 
had  nothing  at  all  to  eat.  But  out  in  the  main 
calle — that  there's  Spanish  for  street — there 
was  a  native  mule.  I  hate  to  tell  you  what  we 
done  to  that  mule,  but  honest  he  weren't  such 
turrible  bad  eating.  Even  the  Generals  come 
back  fur  more. 

''Well,  we  was  just  fightin'  over  the  last 
scraps  when  some  native  Captain  comes  runnin' 
in  and  spoiled  our  whole  supper  by  tellin'  us 
that  there  was  an  enemy  force  right  in  front  of 
us.  Everybody  got  excited  and  all  the  Gen- 
erals and  Colonels  started  givin'  orders  at  once 
to  their  own  special  privates,  and  it  looked  like 
they  would  be  a  lot  of  bloodshed,  when  sud- 
denly a  bunch  of  strange  birds  come  over  the 
top   right   in   our   midst   with   white   handker- 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  277 

chiefs  tied  to  their  bayonets.  Know  who  them 
birds  was?" 

Everybody  pohtely  shook  their  heads. 

"Well,  they  was  nothing  but  United  States 
marines  and  United  States  bluejackets.  That 
is  all  them  birds  was." 

When  that  had  sunk  in,  Sergt.  Welt  con- 
tinued : 

"They  was  six  of  them,  and  after  talking  the 
situation  to  Gen.  Gomez  and  explaining  that 
there  was  about  six  hundred  of  'em  back  in 
Managua  just  a  day  away,  the  General  he  sur- 
rendered his  trick  sword  without  a  shot  being 
fired,  and  we  was  all  made  peaceful  prisoners. 
Them  six  bluejackets  and  marines  marched  us 
all  the  next  day  and  that  night  we  was  in  the 
capital  of  Nicaragua. 

"A  couple  of  days  after  that  we  marched 
dowTL  to  Corinto  and  was  put  on  board  a  United 
States  ship  and  brung  back  to  Panama — me 
and  Panama  Bob  Brown  and  Schweitzer  Bill 
and  all  the  other  hundred  generals  and  colonels 
and  majors.  And  back  there  in  our  own  old 
stampin'  ground  around  Balboa,  Panama  Bob 


278       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

and  Bill  and  me  fixes  it  up  to  capture  a  tugboat 
named  Hector  that  once  a  month  run  to  Carte- 
genia,  Colombia,  with  $30,000  pay  for  the 
Algemeine  Bananan  Gesellschaft  plantation. 
Panama  Bob  was  assistant  engineer  and  Schweit- 
zer Bill  was  deckhand  and  I  was  outside  man 
getting  the  information.  Well,  the  night  we 
was  going  to  hold  up  the  boat  and  get  the  dough 
and  then  scuttle  the  old  bottom,  watcha  think 
happened? 

''They  brung  the  30,000  bucks  on  all  right, 
but  they  brung  thirty  other  kind  of  big  black 
native  bucks  along  as  well,  so  me  and  Bob  and 
Bill  we  come  up  here  to  the  States." 

The  Sergeant  yawned. 

"Say,  gimme  another  cigarette."  He  had 
done  a  good  night's  work,  he  intimated. 

Somebody  gave  the  Sarge  another  cigarette. 
The  party  was  breaking  up.  Two  or  three  of 
the  audience  winked  at  each  other.  All  the 
bulls  were  tied — ^held  up  at  the  Union  Stock 
Yards  in  Chicago,  their  winks  implied.  Sergt. 
Ben  Patterson,  however,  did  not  wink  nor  did 
he  yawn. 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  279 

"What  was  the  name  of  that  United  States 
cruiser  that  took  you  aboard  at  Corinto,  and 
what  year  was  that?"    he  asked  quite  casually. 

"Let's  see.  Oh,  yes;  she  were  the  U.  S.  S. 
Denver,  and  it  was  in — ^wait  a  minute — ^I  was 
in  the  foreign  legion  and  Moroccan  war  in  1908 
and  that  was  a  couple  of  years  after.  That's 
1910." 

"Well,  holy  smoke!"  shouted  Sergt.  Ben 
Patterson,  grabbing  the  yarn  master  by  the 
horny  right  hand.  "I  was  a  gun  captain  on 
the  Denver  then  and  was  in  that  gang  of  blue- 
jackets that  captured  you.  You're  the  goods, 
boy.    You're  there.    Holy  smoke!" 

All  of  which  is  religiously  true,  and  is  only 
told  so  that  the  grossly  uninformed,  who  think 
that  Uncle  Sam's  great  army  of  freedom  is 
made  up  entirely  of  tenderfoots  and  city  born, 
may  know  once  and  for  all  that  in  it  there  are 
many  two  fisted  gents  who  know  that  at  times 
powder  is  used  for  something  else  besides  rub- 
bing on  the  male  face  after  scraping. 


280      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

3 — ^Among  Those  Present 

And  there  are  some  to  whom  the  adventure 
is  small  but  the  Revenge  looms  up  big  and 
promising. 

Over  in  the  casual  barracks  of  the  304th 
Field  Artillery  they  keep  the  selected  men  only 
a  few  days  until  they  are  permanently  assigned 
to  the  different  batteries  of  the  regiment.  But 
these  first  few  days  mean  a  great  deal  to  young 
soldiers,  because  they  are  the  days  of  deep 
impressions  and  quick  friendships  and  lasting 
thrills,  when  never  ceasing  pride  and  loyalty 
is  born  for  officers  and  bunk  mates.  The  army 
is  new  and  all  its  wonder  and  fascination  and 
gripping  magic  reaches  far  into  the  hearts  of 
these  city  men. 

"Know  who  our  first  Sarge  is.^"  the  short, 
smiling  lad  from  Harlem  asks,  breaking  the  third 
button  on  his  O.  D.  blouse,  as  the  pride  in  his 
chest  bursts  forth.  "He's  a  motion  picture 
actor — a  star  villain.  Ain't  you  never  seen  him.^ 
Say  he's  a  bear  cat,  played  in  'The  Stolen  Heart, ' 
'Womanhood,'  'Pearl  of  the  Army'  and  maybe 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  281 

he  wasn't  some  knockout  as  Robinson  Crusoe  in 
that  fihim.  Some  class  to  this  here  bar- 
racks, eh?" 

''Sure,  I  seen  him  too,"  pipes  up  Bennie 
Levinskie,  pantmaker  from  Rivington  street. 
"Say'd  you  ever  see  him  in  the  'Money  Mill'? 
He's  a  furriner,  ain't  he?" 

It  was  the  shady  side  of  410  Twelfth  street, 
where  the  casual  barracks  stands  forth  in  all  its 
nakedness,  and  Bennie  and  a  half  dozen  were 
sunning  themselves  and  watching  the  outdoor, 
indoor  baseball  game. 

Noon  mess  w^as  over  and  it  was  forty-five 
minutes  before  the  call  would  be  sounded  for 
the  first  lap  of  the  long  three  and  a  half  hours 
of  afternoon  drill. 

Two  or  three  more  new  soldiers  of  the  army 
of  freedom  pounded  out  through  the  big  double 
door  of  the  barracks,  their  hobnailed  trench 
boots  cUcking  against  the  wooden  steps.  With 
a  demand  for  a  match  they  joined  the  group, 
leaning  back  against  the  wall  of  the  building, 
their  hands  sunk  deep  into  comfortable  pockets. 

Then   another    soldier    joined    them — a    big. 


282      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

broad  shouldered,  heavy  faced  fighting  man, 
with  villainous  mustachios  and  strong,  power- 
ful hands  and  great  muscular  wrists.  "That's 
him  now,"  Bennie  whispered. 

But  the  Harlem  picture  fan  spoke  out  frankly 
and  directly  after  the  manner  of  Harlem  born 
civilians,  who  know  very  little  army  ways  and 
means.  "This  correspondent  guy  here  wants  to 
know  how  you  happened  to  get  into  the  movies, 
Sarge." 

The  Sarge  had  very  little  time  to  smile,  but 
he  did  stop  for  a  word  or  two.  "I  was — what 
you  call  him.^ — a  super  for  one  play.  Den  I 
have  a  part.    Dat  was  all." 

"Where'd  you  learn  how  to  drill,  Sarge.^'* 
the  Harlemite  demanded. 

The  big  man  who  had  Uttle  time  to  smile 
hesitated  as  if  he  were  about  to  reprimand  the 
soldier  for  impudence.  Then  very  simply  he 
answered,  "In  the  Serbian  army." 

And  years  of  movie  fanning  having  developed 
a  sense  of  the  dramatic  in  the  Harlemite  and 
Bennie,  by  hook  and  crook  they  dragged  out 
the    story    from    this    fighting    man,    ex-Lieut. 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  283 

Milan  Steffanovich,  of  the  Serbian  Army,  who 
waits  for  his  day  to  come  again. 

"From  the  mihtary  academy  in  Belgrade  I 
graduate  in  1907,"  he  went  on,  "and  am  assign 
to  the  First  Heavy  Artillery.  But  soon  the 
Government  send  me  as  secret  service  man  to 
Austria  and  I  enlist  as  a  sailor  in  the  Austrian 
navy.  Then  when  the  Balkan  war  come  I  fight 
for  two  year  as  lieutenant  and  win  the  King 
Peter  cross  in  the  battle  of  Chatolgje  against 
the  Bulgarians.  And  then  come  the  great  war, 
and  I,  with  my  artillery  regiment,  fight  in  the 
battle  of  Rudnik  against  the  Austrians. 

"In  December,  1915,  in  the  great  Austrian 
offensive  near  Monastir  I  am  captured.  Eh,  eh 
— ^but  I  kill  three  before.  We  fight  hand  to 
hand — ^I  kill  one  and  another  he  goes  down. 
But  he  grabs  my  foot  and  a  third  attack  me 
from  behind.  He  pull  my  head  back,  strike 
down  with  his  bayonet — ^look,  here  is  the  scar 
on  my  chin  where  the  bayonet  go,  and  I  grab 
the  sharp  bayonet  with  my  bare  hand.  Look — 
see  the  scar  in  my  hand.  But  he  tear  his  gun 
loose  and  stab  me  here  in  the  side  and  then  I 


284      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

get  him  down  and  kill  him  so."  The  heavy  boot 
struck  at  the  imaginary  head. 

"Then  I  drop  and  when  I  become  what  you 
call — ^yes,  conscious,  I  am  in  the  Austrian  hospi- 
tal at  Petrovoradin.  Three  months  later  I  meet 
an  Austrian  officer  who  sympathise  with  my 
countree  and  who  I  knew  well  and  he  help  me 
escape.  I  go  to  Trieste  and  then  escape  by  fish- 
ing boat  to  Ancona,  Italy,  and  then  go  to 
Marseilles.  Then  I  work  my  way  over  to 
America  as  sailor.  I  have  no  money  here  and  I 
work  as  orderly  in  Mount  Sinai  Hospital.  Then 
I  see  'ad'  in  paper  for  super  in  military  play, 
'Enemy  to  the  King,'  and  I  work  and  the 
director  see  I  know  army  things  and  he  make 
me  play  a  part  and  from  then  on  I  play  villain 
parts  many  times.  And  then  when  America 
goes  into  war  I  want  to  go  too  and  get  them  to 
send  me  down  here." 

"Well,  holy  gee,  and  I  tought  you  was  noth- 
ing but  a  pitchure  actor,"  Bennie  declared. 

"Any  of  your  folks  killed  over  there?"  the 
Harlemite  asked,  with  new  pride. 

Again  there  was  a  flash  in  the  black  eyes  and 


SERVICE  RIBBONS 


285 


286      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

the  knotting  of  the  powerful  hands.  "My 
brother,  a  Heutenant  in  the  army,  was  captured 
and  hung  by  the  Bulgars.  My  father  die  of 
typhus.  My  younger  brother,  a  private,  was 
killed  in  the  trenches.  My  sister,  a  Red  Cross 
nurse,  was  hung  by  the  Bulgars.  My  mother 
she  die  of  a  broken  heart.    I  only  am  left." 

Not  even  Bennie  had  anything  to  say  for  half 
a  minute,  then  he  repeated  quite  respectfully, 
"And  I  tought  you  was  nothin'  but  a  movie 
villain." 

With  a  shrug  the  man  who  has  little  time 
or  wish  to  smile  turned  and  walked  back  to  his 
work  in  the  barracks. 

4 — ^Heroes  Both 

And  after  all  these  men  who  wear  strange 
service  ribbons  are  really  typical  of  this  great 
National  Army  of  Freedom.  But  anything  and 
everything  is  typical  of  democracy's  hope  at 
arms — except  the  army  dads  of  old,  and  they 
are  as  rare  as  flying  Germans. 

For  the  most  part  even  the  regular  non 
coms  assigned  to  the  division  are  mustacheless 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  287 

youths  who  have  at  best  done  no  more  than  one 
hitch  in  the  regular  service.  And  so  it  happens 
that  generally  speaking  the  companies  are  father- 
less and  the  men  must  need  learn  their  soldiering 
from  border  sergeants  and  Plattsburg  graduates. 

But  here  and  there,  scattered  wholly  by  chance 
throughout  the  great  sprawling  cantonment, 
can  be  found  an  old  soldier  of  the  days  that  were, 
w^hen  America's  25,000  were  enough  to  play 
their  little  games  of  paper  war  and  make  good 
the  boast  of  being  the  greatest  scrappers  of  them 
all.  And  almost  as  rare  and  almost  as  fortunate 
is  the  company  barracks  that  can  show  old 
soldiers  of  another  school  and  flag — ^the  men 
of  strange  armies  who  help  to  make  this  division 
a  new  foreign  legion. 

And  just  as  the  spirit  of  motherhood  lies  hid- 
den in  all  women  so  does  the  surge  to  father 
rookie  lads  lurk  in  all  old  soldiers.  It  is  part  of 
the  game — one  of  the  finest  parts  and  knows 
no  tongue  or  borders  or  camp. 

As  doggy  as  the  military  police,  as  upstage  as 
the  Engineers  and  with  the  swagger  of  a  head- 
quarters troop  and  the  dash  of  the  artillery,  the 


288      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Field  Signal  Battalion  has  the  additional  point 
of  being  of  strangest  birth. 

Made  up  half  of  selected  men  and  half  of 
signal  corps  reserve  men,  it  stands  forth  as  the 
twin  outfit  in  the  camp,  and  for  this  reason 
recognises  no  peer.  And  quite  rightly  so,  for  to 
it  came  volunteers  of  high  degree  and  to  it  as 
well  were  assigned  picked  men  from  the  selected 
lists — ^wireless  men,  expert  electricians,  draughts- 
men and  a  half  score  followers  of  skilled 
trades. 

And  then  it  has  as  mess  sergeant  Fernand 
Combs,  known  throughout  all  of  the  roomy 
barracks  of  Company  A  as  Frenchie  and  one 
high  private,  Theodore  Parker,  known  equally 
far  and  favourably  as  the  baby  elephant,  alias 
the  Kid,  alias  the  Smiler — ^the  one  an  ex-French 
sergeant  with  two  years'  active  service  and  an 
honourable  discharge  and  a  pension  to  his  credit, 
and  the  other  a  curly  haired  smiling  boy  who 
*Svon't  be  16  until  February,"  and  yet  has 
three  full  weeks  of  Canadian  army  service  to 
look  back  on. 

"Zat  ees  not  zee  way  you  say,  pass  zee  coffee," 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  289 

Sergeant  Fernand  cautioned.  "  Eet  ees  dees 
way:  passez  le  cafe;  try  eet." 

The  Kid  who  'Svon't  be  16  until  February" 
tried  it,  but  it  didn't  sound  at  all  like  that.  But 
that  didn't  discourage  the  man  who  had  an 
honourable  discharge  and  a  pension  from  La 
Belle  France.  And  again  and  again  he  led  the 
boy  with  the  curly  hair  and  the  big  smile  over 
the  jumps  of  his  first  French  lesson. 

But  even  the  glories  of  learning  trench  French 
when  France  doesn't  seem  so  terribly  far  away, 
can't  be  expected  to  hold  a  fifteen-year-old 
soldier  so  very  long.  And  so  it  was  that  shortly 
the  Smiler  led  his  teacher  to  tell  of  those  brave 
days  of  the  Marne  and  Ypres  and  Notre  Dame 
de  Lorette  and  all  the  others  when  the  Blue 
Devils — Sergeant  Combs's  own  regiment — ^gave 
their  lives  that  democracy  and  France  might  be 
saved  for  the  world. 

Without  attempting  the  broken  English  spiced 
by  full  bloom  French  words  as  the  tense  de- 
scriptions came,  the  story  told  very  simply  of 
that  day  in  early  August,  1914,  when  Fernand, 
a  hotel  manager  in  England,  hurried  back  to 


290      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

France.  Joining  his  old  regiment  of  chasseurs — 
the  Blue  Devils — ^he  had  fought  in  Alsace,  and 
at  the  taking  of  Mulhausen.  Then  had  come  the 
terrible  days  of  the  Marne,  with  the  Blue  Devils 
always  in  the  centre  of  the  fighting.  Then  north 
to  Arras  and  then  the  terrible  battle  of  Ypres, 
when  the  French  first  learned  that  Tommy 
Atkins  could  die  as  bravely  as  any  poilu. 

At  Ypres  it  was  that  Fernand's  squad  had 
been  decorated  by  King  Albert  himself  for 
bravery.  For  eight  days  they  had  held  a  trying 
position  without  relief  against  overwhelming 
odds.  And  the  king  who  smiles  no  more,  learn- 
ing of  the  wonderful  squad,  ordered  the  deco- 
ration. And  as  all  had  been  equally  brave  the 
squad  drew  for  the  signal  Order  of  Leopold  and 
the  cook  won  it. 

Then  had  come  the  campaign  at  Bethune, 
where  in  May,  1915,  Sergt.  Combs  had  been 
wounded,  having  his  arm  broken  in  a  hand  to 
hand  combat.  And  then  later  the  battle  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Lorette,  where  Fernand  had 
been  gassed,  rescued  by  an  American  ambulance 
driver  and  following  eleven  months  in  the  hospi- 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  291 

tal  discharged  as  unfit.  Rejected  a  second  and 
a  third  time  in  June,  1916,  he  was  formally  dis- 
charged and  pensioned.  Then  he  came  to 
America  with  his  wife  and  two  children,  Rene, 
the  eight-year-old  son,  and  petite  Fernande, 
five-year-old  daughter  and  namesake. 

A  year  here  as  chef  and  hotel  manager  and 
then  came  America's  entrance  into  the  war. 
Fernand,  strong  and  well  again,  could  no  longer 
wait  and  the  week  after  declaration  joined  the 
Signal  Corps  Reserve. 

The  Smiler  didn't  have  anything  to  say  for 
a  full  minute  after  the  French  hero  had  finished. 
He  had  wanted  to  tell  about  his  own  army  ex- 
perience— ^he  had  wanted  to  at  the  start,  but  it 
never  occurred  to  him  when  the  sergeant  had 
finished. 

''You  too — ^you  been  in  ze  armee,  no?" 
questioned  Fernand  with  a  smile. 

The  Smiler  gulped,  smiled  and  his  eyes 
sparkled.  And  then  because  he  was  a  big,  fine, 
smiling  kid  he  told  the  story  of  his  three  weeks 
soldiering  under  the  flag  of  Great  Britain  in  the 
days  before  he  had  joined  out  with  Uncle  Sam 


292      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

and  become  the  youngest  soldier  in  the  army 
of  freedom. 

In  August,  though  three  years  later  than 
Fernand's  fatal  August,  the  Smiler  had  gone 
to  Niagara  Falls  on  a  sightseeing  trip.  Two 
weeks  later  the  Bellevue  High  School  in  Pitts- 
burg would  open  and  he  would  enter  his  junior 
year.  And  here  was  a  great  war  and  he  was  a 
big,  upstanding  lad,  with  a  trick  smile  and  a 
look  of  18. 

So  he  had  crossed  over  to  Toronto  and  joined 
a  Canadian  mounted  outfit  and  was  shot  into 
one  of  the  great  Canadian  training  camps.  But 
his  dream  only  lasted  for  three  short,  wonderful 
weeks.  And  then  he  was  called  in  by  the  friendly 
battalion  Adjutant  and  handed  an  honourable 
discharge  on  account  of  being  under  age. 

"What  zee  officer  say  to  you,  Smiler?"  asked 
Mess  Sergeant  Dad  Combs. 

"Why,  he  just  said  I  was  discharged  from  the 
Canadian  army  from  now  on.  So  I  came  on 
down  to  Pittsburg  and  my  father,  who  served 
in  the  Spanish-American  war — well,  my  father, 
he  said  that  the  Parker  tribe  had  had  somebody 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  293 

representing  it  in  every  war  since  the  Revolution 
and  he  guessed  I  could  get  in  this  if  I  wanted  to. 
So  he  went  to  the  recruiting  station  with  me  and 
signed  his  consent  for  me  to  serve,  and  here  I 
am." 

Mess  Sergeant  Fernand  Combs,  one  time 
member  of  the  Blue  Devils  and  now  high  in  the 
circles  of  Company  A,  302d  Field  Signal  Bat- 
talion, Army  of  Freedom,  patted  the  Smiler, 
''who  won't  be  16  till  February,"  very  proudly 
and  affectionately  on  the  back  like  old  dad 
sergeants  have  done  since  Caesar  taught  the  art 
of  fighting. 

''Great  armee  dis  of  America — ^she  save 
France."  What  are  tears  to  a  man  who  has 
been  at  Arras  and  the  Marne  and  Ypres.^^ 

"Best  army  I  ever  saw,  Dad;  lot  better  than 
the  Canadian,"  and  the  Smiler  generously  patted 
Dad  Combs  in  return. 


5 — Into  War's  Magic 

Floating  around  the  army  is  a  story  of  the 
daybreak    inspections    of    a    battalion    of    the 


294      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

famous  British  Black  Watch  regiment  in  the 
trenches  in  Flanders.  Like  great  ghosts  these 
battle  tried  men  lined  up  in  the  mist  of  each 
foggy  dawn  with  only  a  faint  gleam  of  light 
catching  now  and  then  a  naked  bayonet.  Each 
morning  their  numbers  were  cut  down  by  the 
score,  and  each  morning  the  cold  fear  of  this 
game  with  death  bit  with  the  chill  of  the  winter 
night  into  every  man's  heart. 

''Men  of  the  Black  Watch,"  the  grizzled 
Colonel  would  shout  down  the  long  line  that 
lost  itself  in  the  dark  before  a  dozen  men  were 
counted  off,  ''with  what  do  the  soldiers  of  the 
Black  Watch  clean  their  bayonets?" 

"Blood  of  the  Huns!"  the  answer  would 
roar  back. 

And  army  observers  back  from  the  trenches 
report  that  this  scene  and  this  phrase  that  ap- 
pears so  melodramatic  and  theatrical  when  put 
in  words  was,  in  its  battle  setting,  the  most  in- 
spiring and  vivid  and  striking  of  the  whole 
mad  war. 

American  soldiers  soon  will  be  sending  back 
from  overseas  their  own  glorious  tales  of  fight- 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  295 

ing  and  training.  But  even  here  in  this  secure 
camp,  busy  with  its  soldier  making  and  its 
drills  and  stump  clearing  and  practice  trench 
digging,  there  comes  now  and  again  the  deep, 
surging  thrill  of  the  American  army,  touched  by 
the  magic  of  the  real  war. 

And  to-day  at  dusk  8,000  recruits  fresh  from 
warm  city  stores  and  offices  and  shops  felt  this 
tremendous  surge  for  the  first  time.  Down 
company  streets  and  through  regimental  areas 
a  wind  that  brought  the  mercury  to  zero  was 
tearing  and  biting  and  freezing.  Even  great 
army  overcoats  could  not  stop  it,  and  these 
8,000  did  not  have  greatcoats. 

A  bugle  blew,  and  outside  the  barracks  in  the 
roaring  wind  and  biting  cold  each  company 
lined  up  in  double  column.  Every  man  with  an 
army  overcoat  carried  a  rifle  with  naked 
bayonet  in  place.  And  at  the  lower  end  of  each 
company  the  newly  arrived  men  were  placed 
by  two  months  old  sergeants. 

At  the  command  from  the  Captains  the  com- 
panies formed  into  columns  of  fours  and  the 
four  companies  of  each  battalion  marched  by 


296      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

battalions  into  place  for  a  regimental  Retreat. 
Silently  they  swung  down  the  company  street, 
the  steel  of  their  bayonets  as  dark  in  the  deep 
dusk  as  the  guns  themselves.  It  was  a  grim 
and  serious  business,  this  Retreat  at  zero,  and 
especially  this  battalion  Retreat  of  the  swagger 
306th  Infantry. 

Then  the  drum  major  raised  his  baton  and  the 
buglers  played  ''Retreat"  while  each  of  the 
three  commanding  Majors  brought  his  command 
to  parade  rest.  And  then  came  the  first  notes 
of  "The  Star  Spangled  Banner"  and  the  Majors 
and  the  company  commanders  in  turn  sang  out, 
''Present,  arms!" — and  like  a  great  machine 
working  in  perfect  accord  the  3,000  men  of  the 
306th  Infantry  snapped  up  their  rifles  to  present. 

Then  half  frozen  lips  played  this  wonderful 
national  air  through  half  frozen  instruments — 
played  it  badly  and  only  half  of  it,  but  the  hun- 
dreds of  recruits  shivering  in  their  thin  city 
clothes  did  not  know  it.  To  them  it  was  the 
most  thrilling,  inspiring  moment  that  they  ever 
had  lived.  This  was  the  army  they  had  feared 
and  this  was  the  life  they  had  felt  they  were 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  297 

being  dragged  into.  And  here  in  a  desperate 
winter  night  they  had  suddenly  caught  its 
magic. 

And  then  in  another  second  the  music  had 
ceased  and  the  old  men — ^the  men  with  the 
greatcoats  and  the  rifles  with  the  fixed  bayonets 
— were  breaking  for  their  warm,  homey  bar- 
racks. It  was  dark  and  to  the  recruits  the  fig- 
ures were  almost  like  the  characters  in  a  half 
forgotten  dream.  Their  first  retreat  was  over 
— ^and  it  had  done  its  work. 

And  some  day  from  some  far  distant  front 
there  will  come  back  tales  of  these  men  of  the 
National  Army — tales  of  daybreak  inspection 
or  of  Retreat  at  dusk,  tales  that  will  match  even 
those  of  Britain's  centuries  old  Black  Watch. 


6— The  Van  Nordens— '61  and  '18 

Jay  Van  Norden,  National  Army  '17  and  '18, 
doesn't  exactly  belong  in  this  chapter  on  "Serv- 
ice Ribbons,"  but  Van  Norden,  Sr.,  Army  of 
the  Republic  '61  to  '65  does  belong — so  we'll 
tell  the  story  anyway  for  what  it's  worth. 


298      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

The  pride  of  a  soldier  in  the  Httle  bronze  but- 
ton worn  on  the  collar  of  his  blouse  is  one  of  the 
unexplained  mysteries  about  army  life.  A 
soldier  will  change  the  style  of  his  uniform  with- 
out a  grumble  and  it  makes  little  difference  to 
him  whether  it's  trench  or  dress  shoes  that  are 
popular  this  season,  but  he'll  stand  for  no  mon- 
keying with  his  insignia. 

To  the  regular  the  plain  U.  S.  on  his  button 
stands  for  a  good  part  of  all  that's  sacred  to  him. 
But  the  same  holds  true  of  the  old  guardsman 
with  U.  S.  N.  G.  on  his  collar,  and  now  the  spirit 
is  reechoed  with  the  men  of  the  National  Army, 
with  their  U.  S.  N.  A.  But  as  he  is  the  oldest  in 
tradition  and  service  it  is  the  regular  who  will 
do  anything  but  mutiny  at  even  the  suggestion 
of  changing  his  plain  U.  S. 

"I'd  like  to  see  'em  take  that  U.  S.  button 
away  from  me,"  Private  Jay  Van  Norden  re- 
marked casually,  laying  aside  his  card  files  and 
paper  work  in  the  examining  room  of  the  305th 
Field  Hospital.  "I  don't  ask  for  much — just 
to  be  sent  across  and  to  keep  my  U.  S.  That's 
not  much." 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  299 

And  when  Private  Van  Norden's  story  is 
heard  it  does  seem  a  very  little  for  a  soldier  to 
ask.  And  it  shows  that  patriotism  is  a  living 
thing  here  in  America,  German  propaganda  and 
prophecies  notwithstanding. 

The  war  was  very  young  when  Van  Norden 
started  south  on  a  big  job  in  his  highly  paid 
trade  of  steeplejack.  Behind  in  the  little  home 
at  2309  Catalpa  street,  Ridgewood,  Queens, 
were  a  wife  and  two  girls,  and  already  with  the 
morning  papers  at  hand  telling  of  the  selective 
service  bill  with  the  age  set  at  31,  the  mother 
was  uttering  unspoken  prayers  of  gratitude  that 
Jay  was  34  years  old  and  so  would  not  be  taken. 

But  on  the  train  making  his  way  toward 
Baltimore  the  steeplejack  had  another  line  of 
thought.  It  was  of  duty  and  patriotism,  and 
when  the  train  pulled  into  the  station  at  Balti- 
more Van  Norden  hurried  away  in  search  of  a 
recruiting  station.  As  expert  mechanic  and 
motorcyclist  he  joined  as  a  despatch  rider  in  an 
ambulance  company  and  was  sent  at  once  to 
Columbus,  Ohio,  to  be  mustered  in. 

It  was  at  this  same  old  barracks  in  Columbus 


300      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

that  another  Van  Norden,  the  father,  had  en- 
listed early  in  '61,  when  the  first  call  to  arms 
was  sounded.  Then  it  was  the  105th  Ohio 
Volunteers  that  had  gained  a  recruit — the  first 
battalion  of  the  105th — whose  Major  fought 
gallantly  through  the  four  years,  only  to  die 
two  score  years  later  a  beloved  and  martyred 
President,  Major  William  McKinley. 

So  with  much  the  same  thrill  that  the  senior 
Van  Norden  had  felt  when  he  raised  his  right 
hand  and  took  the  oath  of  a  soldier  this  younger 
soldier  pledged  his  life.  He  wanted  to  go  across 
at  once,  to  do  his  bit  as  his  father  had  done, 
again  to  make  the  world  a  place  for  free  men. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  Instead  of  his  unit,  the 
Twenty-third  Field  Hospital  Section  of  the 
Regular  Army,  being  hurried  abroad  it  was  sent 
to  Fort  Benjamin  Harrison,  Indiana,  and  then 
later  ordered  to  Camp  Upton,  where  it  was 
split  into  four  units  and  called  the  305th,  306th, 
307th  and  308th  Field  Hospital  of  the  National 
Army. 

And  instead  of  dashing  across  shell  torn  areas 
in  France  bearing  messages  Private  Van  Nor- 


SERVICE  RIBBONS  301 

den  was  put  to  keeping  records  and  assisting  the 
lung  specialists  through  whose  hands  have  passed 
all  the  40,000  soldiers  of  Camp  Upton.  And 
then  as  a  crowning  disappointment  came  the 
news  that  there  was  a  possibility  that  even  the 
coveted  U.  S.  button  showing  that  he  belonged 
to  the  regulars  might  be  taken  away  from  him. 
Back  in  his  little  stationery  store  at  108  Eld- 
ridge  Street,  Brooklyn,  a  seventy-four-year-old 
man  with  a  Minie  ball  still  buried  in  his  body, 
with  four  years  of  Civil  War  service  to  his 
credit — the  Van  Norden  of  1861 — to-day  vice- 
commander  of  Perry  Post,  G.  A.  R.,  tries  to  tell 
a  rather  impatient  son  that  the  ways  of  the  war 
gods  are  strange  and  beyond  conjecture. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 
NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION 

1 — No  Regular  Gent 

MESS  SERGEANT  ALECK  BROOKS 
sat  on  the  sunny  side  of  Company  I 
barracks,  307th  Infantry,  with  a  large 
heap  of  prickly  pine  cones  between  his  feet. 
Now  and  again  at  short  intervals  he  would  toss 
one  of  the  cones  with  considerable  spirit  and 
velocity  in  the  direction  of  Kaiser  Bill.  Bill 
would  grunt  from  the  blow,  shake  his  untrimmed 
whiskers  and  then  with  unfeigned  relish  eat  the 
morsel  itself. 

''Look  at  that  fool  goat  eat  them  cones," 
mused  Mess  Sergeant  Aleck.  "Know  what  he 
done  an  hour  ago?  He  up  and  et  a  piece  right 
out  of  the  garbage  can.  He's  the  eatnest  goat 
you  ever  seen.  An'  he's  the  foolest  goat  too, 
and  he's  the  gluttenest  goat;  look  what  he 
done  to  me!" 

305 


306      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Mess  Sergeant  Aleck  raised  up  from  where 
he  was  planted  in  the  sunshine,  turned  slowly 
around  and  showed  exactly  what  the  goat  had 
done.  Never  would  those  precious  army  pants 
of  his  be  the  same  again. 

The  tear  extended  all  the  way  across  diagon- 
ally east  and  west  and  made  sitting  a  proper 
and  natural  position  for  Sergeant  Aleck  to  as- 
sume. 

"That  there  goat  done  that.  It  didn't  hurt 
me  none  except  the  pants,  but  you  should  see 
some  of  the  other  fighting  men.  I'm  sitting 
down  right  comfortable,  but  them  others  they're 
lyin'  down  face  or  standin'  round  thinkin'  up 
ways  to  get  rid  of  Bill  there.  Top  Sergeant 
Charley  French  he  was  goin'  to  buy  Bill  a  fine 
blanket,  all  blue  with  'Company  I,  307th  In- 
fantry, U.  S.  N.  A.,'  in  red  letters — ^just  like  is 
inscribed  on  that  there  collar  of  his. 

*'He  was  goin'  to  buy  that  blanket;  he  was, 
but  he  ain't  goin'  to  no  more.  Know  where  he 
is  now.'^  He's  out  back  trying  to  bribe  the  cook 
to  slip  a  little  poison  in  the  food,  so  that  when 
Bill  eats  what's  left  it'll  lay  Bill  out.     Even  I 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     307 

wouldn't  do  that.  Take  that,  ya  darn 
German!" 

Aleck  burned  another  pine  cone  into  Bill's 
fat,  well  protected  ribs.  Bill  grunted,  strained 
at  his  half  inch  thick  chain,  showed  about  nine 
inches  of  fine  high  power  horns — ^and  then  ate 
the  cone. 

Down  at  the  other  end  of  the  barracks  a 
dozen  promising  young  soldiers  were  building 
an  8x10  foot  stockade  of  six  inch  scrub  oak  logs 
set  upright  and  sunk  two  feet  in  the  ground. 
No  king  of  the  forest,  wild  German  boar, 
rhinoceros  or  mountain  goat  would  have  even 
Kaiser  Bill's  chance  of  escaping  from  that  cor- 
ral. Aleck  pointed  up  to  it  with  the  butt  of  his 
cigarette. 

''Bill  goes  in  there  until  he  can  learn  how 
to  be  a  regular  goat  and  a  gentleman,"  Aleck 
went  on.  "In  three  hours  he's  ruined  $80 
worth  of  Uncle  Sam's  clothes — ^mostly  pants — 
laid  up  four  soldiers,  and,  what  you  might  call, 
brought  disgrace  and  temporary  ruin  to  the 
whole  company.  An'  Company  I's  got  the  best 
Captain  in  the  regiment,  an'  his  name's  Capt. 


308      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Bill — ^I  mean  Capt.  William  D.  Harrigan.  Did 
you  get  that  down?" 

Mess  Sergt.  Aleck  heaved  another  can,  this 
time  catching  Bill  slightly  above  the  beard. 

''Take  that,  you  tin  eater!"  Aleck  pro- 
nounced with  emphasis.  ''Here,  I  spent  all  my 
furlough  and  a  half  month's  pay  buying  you 
and  gettin'  you  down  here,  and  look  how  you 
behaved.  You're  a  fine  member  of  Company  I. 
Didn't  I  go  and  get  you  that  there  brass  collar 
made  with  your  name  on,  and  your  company 
and  your  regiment,  and  everything?  In  that 
there  pen  you  go,  and  in  that  there  pen  you  stay 
until  you  know  how  to  behave." 

''I'm  glad  you  weren't  around  here  this 
morning,  mister,  when  Bill  come,"  Aleck  re- 
sumed as  he  turned  away  from  Kaiser  Bill. 
"It  was  a  disgrace  to  the  army,  and  if  one  fire 
eatin'  goat  like  that,  even  if  he  has  got  low 
visibility,  can  just  about  clean  up  a  whole 
company  it  would  be  pretty  tough  on  the  Na- 
tional Army  if  the  news  got  out.  I  don't  mind 
tellin'  it,  but  I  am  glad  you  didn't  witness 
everything." 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    309 

At  this  moment  an  innocent  looking  private 
from  Company  K,  travelling  peacefully  along 
toward  his  own  barrack  and  absolutely  mind- 
ing his  own  business,  by  a  twist  of  cruel  fate 
stepped  within  the  firing  range  in  No  Man's 
Land.  Aleck  cried  a  warning,  but  it  was  a  tenth 
of  a  second  too  late.  The  attack  was  a  complete 
surprise  and  was  very  successful  as  far  as  Bill 
was  concerned. 

"See  that?  See  that?"  repeated  Aleck,  just 
a  faint  bit  of  pride  creeping  into  his  voice.  ''He 
ain't  no  natural  goat.  That  there  goat's  a 
German  goat.  Didn't  I  buy  him  of  Abe  Ein- 
stein, and  am't  Abie  a  German  by  birth — ^and 
what's  more,  don't  Abie  run  a  fish  store  up  iu 
The  Bronx?  Listen,  mister,  don't  never  buy  a 
goat  from  a  German  fish  dealer  up  in  The  Bronx. 
Plain  Harlem  goats  is  bad  enough,  but  when 
you  get  all  them  things  together  you  got  a  goat 
that  ain't  fit  for  any  respectable  soldier  to  asso- 
ciate with. 

"You  see,  I  used  to  live  up  in  The  Bronx,  and 
I  had  a  kind  of  passing  acquaintance  with  Bill 
ever  since  he  was  born,  two  j^ears  ago.    So  when 


310      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

I  came  down  here  and  was  made  mess  sergeant 
and  had  all  that  kitchen  stuff  to  throw  away 
every  night  I  just  naturally  thought  of  Bill  and 
decided  I'd  buy  him  and  dedicate  him  to  the 
company. 

"Well,  I  got  a  pass  Saturday  and  paid  Abe 
seven  bucks  for  Bill — ^you  know  goats  has  gone 
up,  the  same  as  everything  else — and  then  give 
him  five  bucks  extra  to  bring  him  down  here  in 
style.  Then  it  cost  me  three  more  to  have  that 
there  collar  made  and  inscribed.  Them  fifteen 
real  iron  men  was  spent  without  knowing  what 
I  was  really  buying." 

Mess  Sergeant  Aleck  mused  a  half  minute 
over  his  extravagance  and  then  gently  heaved 
another  pine  cone  at  Bill. 

"Well,  this  morning,  just  after  drill  was  over 
and  a  half  hour  before  mess,  a  big  limousine 
drew  up  and  there  was  Bill  strapped  in  behind. 
In  four  seconds  the  whole  company  was  crowdin* 
around  and  yellin'.  And  I  reached  in  and  loosed 
Bill's  feet  and  spoke  nice  to  him  and  was  goin* 
to  lead  him  out  quiet  and  gently.  Bill  got  scared 
and  jumped  through  the  glass  door  and  kicked 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     311 

a  couple  of  privates  down  and  you  should  ought 
to  have  seen  them  soldiers  drop  their  guns  and 
beat  it.  And  Bill,  he  jumped  from  krag  to  krag, 
as  you  might  say,  and  then  made  for  the  brush 
with  about  179  soldiers  after  him. 

''Finally  they  thought  they  got  him  cornered, 
but  about  this  time  Bill  went  into  action  fore  and 
aft,  an'  say,  what  he  done  to  about  nineteen 
pair  of  pants  is  somethin'  awful  to  relate.  Talk 
about  a  fightin'  gent;  Bill  don't  even  know 
when  he's  Ucked,  and  it  w^eren't  until  eight 
privates,  three  corporals  and  the  top  sergeant 
was  sittin'  on  his  beezer  and  puUin'  of  his 
whiskers  that  Bill  give  in.  Then  we  borrowed  a 
chain  ofl'n  one  of  these  stump  pullin'  outfits 
and  with  a  great  deal  of  care  and  attention  got 
Bill  back  here  and  nailed  him  in  the  barracks. 
To-night  he'll  sleep  in  that  there  goat  guard 
house  and  he  can  fight  them  six  inch  oak  posts 
till  his  beard  turns  white,  an'  see  if  I  care. 

''We  was  hopin'  to  take  him  to  France  with 
us,  but  I  heard  Capt.  Harrigan  say  that  Capt. 
Richardson,  the  camp  intelligence  officer,  told 
him  that  it  weren't  allowable  to  take  any  ani- 


312      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

mals  other  than  human  along  on  the  transports, 
but  Bill  might  go  as  a  consignment  of  poison  gas. 
A  goat  ain't  no  sachet  bag,  I  know,  but  as  far 
as  I'm  concerned  I  think  he  ought  to  be  labelled 
a  British  tank — ^he's  about  the  charginist  affair 
around  these  parts.    Ain't  ya,  Bill.^" 

''Ma-a-a-a!"  Bill  commented  by  way  of 
answer,  turning  on  the  final  vowel  and  nib- 
bling of  the  pine  cone  his  master  contributed. 


2 — ^Kaiser  Bill  Gets  the  Range 
The  Kaiser  Bill  munched  in  a  very  gentle 
manner  at  a  choice  selection  of  Capt.  William 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     313 

Harrigan's  own  Brussels  sprouts.  It  was  cold, 
but  Bill's  blue  trick  blanket  with  the  inscription 
** Company  I,  307th  Infantry"  embossed  on 
its  left  side  was  warm  and  comfortable.  Then, 
too,  Bill  was  just  finishing  his  tenth  straight 
sprout,  and  with  the  edge  of  a  strong  goat  ap- 
petite well  worn  Bill  was  getting  particular. 

*' Don't  go  hurry  in'  yerself  none.  Bill,  but 
you  might  as  well  wipe  yer  whiskers  now  and 
go  inside,"  Private  Bull  Ryan,  Bill's  own  high 
keeper  and  pal,  cut  in.  "I  believe  a  gent  like 
5^ou  ought  a  have  all  the  time  he  wants  at  his 
meals,  but  it's  colder  'n  the  well  known  hinges 
out  here.  Bill,  and  I  ain't  got  no  overcoat  on. 
An'  you  got  a  fine  little  house  there  waitin'  for 
ya.    Go  on  an'  give  her  a  little  more  gas,  Bill." 

Bill  looked  up  at  Private  Bull,  recently  am- 
bitious but  unsuccessful  company  bugler,  and 
gave  a  sweet  little  nod  of  approval — or  as  near 
a  sweet  little  nod  as  a  two  horned,  cloven  footed 
he  goat  can  give.  But  Bill,  he  didn't  say  any- 
thing. 

"Listen,  Bill,  I  wouldn't  hurry  ya  fur  the 
world,  not  after  what  you  done  for  old  I  Com- 


314      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

pany,"  Bull  went  on.  "You  know  that,  don't 
ya,  Bill?  I'm  fur  ya,  Bill,  from  right  now  on 
until  you  lead  the  procession  down  Wieneywurst 
avenue,  Berlin.  But  yer  through  and  ye  might 
as  well  go  on  in  your  house.'* 

But  Bill  kept  right  on  nibbling  while  Bull 
kept  right  on  talking. 

"Foolinest  goat  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,"  Bull 
confided  to  a  passerby.  "He's  got  more  brains 
in  a  way  of  speakin'  than  a  whole  squad  of  or- 
dinary buck  privates — say,  he's  got  more  plain 
brains  than  a  fool  bird  dog.  Now,  you  wouldn't 
think  that  o'  Bill  just  to  look  at  him,  would  ya.^^ " 

Before  even  a  negative  answer  could  be  given 
a  strange  bird  of  some  foreign  clime  and  species 
wandered  down  from  a  very  tiny  house  resting 
on  Bill's  own  private,  double  walled,  paper  lined 
log  cabin.  He  looked  pretty  much  like  a  cross 
between  a  fancy  fantail  pigeon  and  a  white 
Wyandotte  rooster.  And  he  was  bowlegged  and 
walked  with  a  certain  rambling  sidewheel  swag- 
ger that  reminded  one  of  a  deep  sea  sailor,  but 
about  the  eye  he  looked  as  wise  as  a  marine. 
Then,  too,  he  was  squatty  and  heavy  around 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     315 

the  shoulders  and  hardly  resembled  any  self- 
respecting  fowl  to  speak  of. 

"Know  who  that  there  bird  is?"  Bull  proudly 
announced.  *' Well,  that  there  is  Mak,  and  he's 
our  other  official  company  mascot.  He's  a  full 
blooded,  pedigreed  Japanese  rooster  and  his 
right  name  is  Makado — ^he  is  named  after  the 
King  of  Japan — and  he  and  Bill  are  bosom  pals. 
I  reckon  Mak  is  comin'  down  to  sleep  with  Bill, 
this  bein'  the  coldest  night  we've  had  yet.  Am 
Iright,  Mak.^" 

Mak  chuckled  a  couple  of  times  and  very 
nonchalantly  strutted  over  and  with  a  consider- 
able lot  of  noise  and  no  small  effort  flew  up  to 
Bill's  back.  Bill  kept  right  on  nibbling  his 
sprouts  just  like  any  other  gent  would  have  done 
under  the  same  embarrassing  circumstances. 

"Greatest  pals  on  earth,  them  two  are,"  Bull, 
erstwhile  bugler,  went  on.  "An'  don't  it  beat 
everything  what '11  hook  up  together  in  the  army? 
Here's  a  royal,  blue  blood  Jap  and  a  he  goat  from 
Harlem  bunkin'  together  and  thinkin'  the 
world  and  all  of  each  other  and  always  boostin' 
each  other's  game.    Say,  did  ya  hear  about  Bill 


316      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

having  the  jam  with  a  Q.  M.  officer?  Didn't  ya 
hear  about  that?" 

Bull  threw  Bill  another  sprout  and  reached 
over  and  stroked  Mak's  reddish  brown,  slightly 
frosted  comb.    Then  he  continued: 

"Well,  yesterday  morning  one  of  our  brightest 
young  lieutenants  that  this  here  company  has 
got  was  all  shined  up  and  dolled  out  like  a 
gambler's  bride  to  go  into  the  city  and  give  a 
lot  of  them  dames  on  Fifth  avenue  a  great  big 
free  treat.  You  could  comb  your  hair  by  the 
polish  on  his  shoes  and  you  could  see  to  shave 
by  with  his  leather  puttees. 

"He  was  standin'  out  there  in  front  of  the 
barracks  and  he  was  waitin'  for  another  lieu- 
tenant to  come  out  and  start  for  the  train,  when 
a  Major  of  the  Quartermaster  Department  come 
walking  down  the  road  here;  there  was  a  lot  of 
the  boys  fooling  around  the  company  street, 
getting  ready  to  go  to  town  and  fixin'  themselves 
all  up,  and  Bill  he  was  cavortin'  about  and  hav- 
ing the  time  of  his  young  and  prosperous  life. 
He  didn't  have  no  chain  or  nothin'  on  and  he 
was  running  high,  wide  and  handsome. 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    317 

"Well,  when  our  proud  young  Lieutenant 
saw  this  'Q.  M'  reserve  Major  comin'  along  he 
come  to  attention  and  just  about  broke  his  arm 
salutin'  this  gold  leaf  officer.  But  do  you  think 
that  there  Major  give  our  Lieutenant  a  tum- 
ble? Not  so  as  you  could  notice  it  at  all.  That 
there  Major  was  so  busy  wonderin'  how  his  com- 
mission business  was  going  on  since  he  entered 
the  army  and  so  het  up  about  the  high  cost  of 
feedin'  rookies  that  he  didn't  have  no  time  to  go 
salutin'  back  no  plain  lieuts. 

"Now  this  sounds  like  some  goat  story,  but  I 
hope  I  never  get  to  France  if  Bill  didn't  see  that 
insult  to  the  fair  name  and  reputation  of  Com- 
pany I  and  decide  at  once  that  he'd  do  his  own 
little  bit  for  his  company  and  his  flag.  Well, 
attackin'  from  the  west  he  caught  that  reserve 
'Q  M'  Major  a  little  bit  low  for  the  best  kind  of 
work  but  he  done  pretty  well  at  that.  I  would 
say  offhand  that  he  done  about  eighteen  to 
twenty  feet.  And  outside  of  one  pair  of  major's 
pants  the  casualties  were  slight  and  not  worth 
speaking  of.  I  tell  ya  Bill  is  strong  on  this 
honour  stuff.     Ain't  you  Bill?" 


318      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Bill  didn't  even  bother  to  answer  such  a  fool- 
ish question  but  being  through  with  his  Brussels 
sprouts  he  slowly  meandered  toward  his  own 
private  log  cabin  with  Mak  resting  safely  on  his 
back. 

"Say,  I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  how  Mak 
done  his  part  in  vindicatin'  Company  I," 
Private  Bull  continued.  "Well,  when  Bill  had 
made  his  drive  and  was  retreating,  what  do  you 
suppose  that  fool  Jap  rooster  done.  Give  it  up? 
Well  he  flapped  his  wings  a  couple  of  times  and 
crowed  four  times  straight  runnin'.  That's  what 
I  call  being  a  pal  of  a  gent.    Say,  ain't  I  right.^" 

And  it  was  allowed  that  Bull  was  infinitely 
correct. 

3 — ^MiKE  THE  Seventh 

Pets  are  pets,  but  Bill  the  Kaiser  and  Mike 
the  Seventh  have  very  little  in  common — ^un- 
less  it  might  be  pride  in  the  same  division.  And 
even  newspaper  correspondents  attached  to  an 
army  feel  that  same  pride. 

Sergt.  Bill  Dennison  sat  crosslegged  on  the 
floor  of  the  orderly  room   of  Division  Head- 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    319 

quarters  troop  and  talked  to  Mike  the  Seventh 
in  a  weird  Filipino  Americano  patois.  Sergt. 
Bill's  face  was  leathery  and  lined  with  the  deep 
sun  wrinkles  of  a  half  score  of  years  of  service 
in  the  Islands.  His  hair  was  white  and  a  bit 
scarce,  and  from  the  yellow  cord  on  his  campaign 
hat  as  well  as  from  the  angle  that  it  was  tipped 
you  would  know  that  here  was  a  United  States 
Cavalryman  of  the  old  days,  when  Uncle  Sam's 
regulation  uniform  was  blue,  and  when  the 
Second  and  the  Third  and  the  Seventh  were 
swaggering  outfits,  and  when  ^'cavalry  was 
cavalry"  and  not  mere  machine  gun  units  or 
artillery  organizations. 

All  in  all  Sergeant  Bill  seemed  about  as  much 
out  of  place  among  these  young  two-month-old 
soldiers  in  this  new  army  of  freedom  as  Mike 
the  Seventh  did.  His  tales  were  not  of  Manhat- 
tan nights,  nor  was  he  deeply  concerned  in  the 
tragic  dimming  of  the  lights  on  Broadway — 
the  yarns  he  spun  and  the  language  he  talked 
were  of  Bagoo  and  Mindanao  and  great  nights 
at  Manila,  when  a  soldier  spent  his  $15  a  month 
pay  in  one  great  blow,  and  shooting  his  last 


320      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

goo  -  goo  ^peseta  would  gamely  allow  that  it  was 
but  a  case  of  easy  come  and  easy  go. 

Five  hitchers  in  the  regulars  make  of  a  man 
somewhat  of  a  philosopher,  and  Sergeant  Bill 
was  surely  one,  and  so  what  mattered  it  if  he 
was  now  serving  in  a  green  outfit  under  Platts- 
burgers  after  fourteen  straight  years  with  the 
gallant  old  Second  Cavalry,  and  with  a  hitch  in 
the  Third  to  start  with? 

"We  should  get  all  calienti — all  het  up,  eh, 
Mike,  old  amigof'  Sergeant  Bill  said  to  Mike 
the  Seventh. 

"Me  and  you  has  been  there  and  back,  ain't 
we  Mike — Chico?  Ah,  Mike,  caro  my  dear — 
you  remind  me  of  the  first  little  darling  I  ever  had. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  him,  Mike — ^how 
I  found  him  up  in  Nor-Luzon,  in  '99  in  a 
cocoanut  grove  when  we  stoned  a  hule  gang  of 
monks  and  this  little  beggar  was  so  young  he 
couldn't  run  away  and  I  picked  him  up 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree.^  He  didn't  have  no 
hair  on  him,  not  at  all — ^what  you  think  of 
that,  Mike?  Cuss,  you  malo  muckacho — cuss, 
you  bad  boy." 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    321 

"Egh!  Egh!  Egh!"  Mike  the  seventh 
squealed  in  a  very  tiny  high  voice,  then  he 
buried  his  head  under  the  Sarge's  arm  as  if  he 
were  seeking  forgiveness. 

"Ah,  it's  all  right,  Mike — come  on  out  now. 
Come  on — pronto,  ^pronto;  you're  awful  slow 
to  learn,  goo-goo  Mike.  Here  I  had  you  two 
weeks  and  you  don't  know  more'n  twenty  words 
of  the  language.  Come  on,  the  Lootenant  won't 
hurt  you,  Mike — pronto,  miichacho.'' 

Pretty  soon  Mike  did  stick  his  head  out  and  he 
laughed,  or  as  near  as  a  very  small  monkey  can 
really  laugh.  Taken  by  and  large  Mike  was  a 
knockout.  Although  it's  all  out  of  the  question 
to  make  any  accurate  estimate  as  to  a  mon- 
key's age,  it  is  certain  that  Mike  was  a  very, 
very  old  boy — ^possibly  up  around  Sergeant 
Bill's  half  century  mark.  And  he  was  very, 
very  wise  as  well. 

"That  'er  boy  is  the  wisest  boy  I  ever  owned," 
Bill  spun  on,  "and  he's  No.  7.  Yes,  sir,  I've 
owned  seven  monkeys  in  my  day  and  they  all 
been  named  Mike;  but  this  little  fellow  is  the 
wisest  and  the  meanest  and  the  orneriest  that  I 


322      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

ever  seen.  Diahlito,  let  go  my  finger — let  go, 
you  little  devil!" 

Mike  the  Seventh  let  go  and  then  laughed* 
Mike  was  all  that  Bill  said  and  then  some.  And 
Mike  was  a  mystery.  Just  how  an  old  cavalry 
sergeant  assigned  to  the  National  Army  to  teach 
city  boys  the  east  from  the  west  of  any  army 
horse  came  by  an  aged,  ornery  monkey  is  some- 
thing that  Capt.  J.  S.  S.  Richardson,  division 
intelligence  officer  should  investigate. 

Monkeys  don't  grow  on  scrub  oaks  around 
Camp  Upton  like  they  do  on  cocoanut  trees  in 
northern  Luzon,  and  you  can't  buy  them  for 
^'un  jpeso'^  like  you  can  out  in  thelslands.  But 
one  day,  a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  when  Sergt.  Bill 
Dennison  and  First  Sergeant  Bob  Eckenrode, 
likewise  from  the  old  Second,  returned  from  a 
two  day  leave  they  had  Mike  with  them. 

"Oh,  we  just  found  him,"  Bill  went  on  when 
questioned.  ''  'At  is,  I  found  him — ^Bob  he  was 
along,  but  Mike's  mine.  Ain't  ya,  Chico?  An* 
don't  ya  sleep  with  me  and  ain't  ya  goin'  to 
France  with  me.^^" 

''How'd  I  do  it,  did  you  ask?    Right  in  my 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    323 

little  old  haversack,  just  where  I  brung  a  dog  from 
the  Islands  one  time.  I  used  to  try  to  bring 
my  monkeys  back  too,  but  I  never  had  no  luck." 

"One  time  I  got  Mike  the  Fourth  on  board 
and  as  far  as  the  quarantine  station  off  Maniler, 
but  they  found  him  out  and  turned  him  out.  But 
Mike  here  he's  goin'  to  France  with  us.  Whoo! 
I'd  give  forty  cents  to  be  in  France  right  now. 
Wouldn't  we,  Mike.^" 

Mike  curled  up  in  Bill's  arms  and  shut  his 
eyes.    France  didn't  worry  him. 

"Lookey  at  the  little  cuss,"  Bill  smiled. 
"Darnedst  pet  I  ever  had — and  I  had  every 
known  kind  'cept  wildcats.  I  don't  think  a 
soldier  got  any  right  having  a  wild  cat.  Ugh! 
I  had  dogs,  monkeys,  lizards,  birds,  and  down 
in  Mindanao  one  time  I  had  a  deer  until  the 
Colonel  made  me  give  him  away  because  he  et 
all  the  trees  around  headquarters.  And  one 
time  in  Balabary — that's  in  Mindanao  too — ^I 
had  a  couple  hundred  chickens  fur  pals.  Talk 
of  eatin'  and  aggin'!  I  was  some  in  funds  in 
them  days.  But  I  wouldn't  trade  Mike  here 
for  none  of  'em." 


S24      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Mike  slept  on  through  this  eulogy.  He  was 
having  happy  dreams.  He  was  a  fine  old  mon- 
key who  had  grown  old  gracefully  and  was  now 
basking  in  the  warmth  of  a  well  deserved  sun- 
shine. Then  through  the  door  of  the  orderly 
room  stalked  Jerry,  young,  black  and  very 
much  a  dog.  No  ancient  trooper  with  a  half 
foot  of  ribbons  across  his  left  breast  pocket 
claimed  him — ^he  belonged  to  a  rookie  and  what 
was  more  a  rookie  bugler — ^Private  Douglas  M. 
Fraser,  same  troop,  same  army,  but  a  rookie 
bugler.  And  this  black  young  dog,  he  was  cer- 
tainly treading  hallowed  ground. 

Like  a  flash  Mike  the  Seventh  awoke,  and  Uke 
a  second  flash  he  attacked  poor,  friendly,  inno- 
cent, good  natured  young  Jerry.  And  being 
the  ward  of  a  gallant  old  trooper,  he  could  ride, 
and  ride  he  did.  In  one  wild  leap  he  lit  astride 
Jerry's  head,  and  Jerry,  with  a  long,  pleading 
yelp,  did  a  Russian  army  out  of  the  orderly 
room  and  up  the  stairs.  The  second  time  he 
made  the  circuit  he  managed  to  brush  Mike  off. 
So  it  was  that  a  minute  later  Mike  was  back  in 
his  old  seat  on  Sergt.  Bill's  lap. 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    325 

"'At's  it,  viuchacho!''  roared  Bill.  ''Don't 
ever  let  no  rookie's  black  pup  make  free  with 
ya !  'At's  it !  Yer  just  like  old  Mike  the  Fourth 
was.  'At's  the  stuff,  boy!"  Mike  squealed  out 
a  word  or  two  of  thanks,  and  then  curled  up  and 
went  to  sleep. 

The  army  is  for  the  young,  after  all. 

4— ''Woof!  Woof!" 

And  while  w^e're  writing  about  Kaiser  Bill 
and  Mike  the  Seventh  we  shouldn't  forget 
Amok.  For  Amok,  while  in  a  military  sense 
is  not  strictly  according  to  regulations,  is  a  sort 
of  mascot  to  his  owti  outfit — and  so  in  he 
goes. 

A  short,  stocky,  copper  coloured  rookie  in 
dusty,  blue  store  trousers  and  a  celluloid  collar 
and  bearing  the  marks  of  some  strange  distant 
land  was  certainly  running  amuck  in  the  com- 
pany street  in  front  of  Barracks  R  5,  where  Com- 
pany I,  307th  Infantry,  holds  forth.  Round  and 
round  in  ten  foot  circles  he  was  prancing,  eigh- 
teen   inches   of   braided   black   horse   tail   hair 


326      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

shooting  straight  out  from  the  nape  of  his  neck 
with  every  prance. 

"  Who-o-o-o !  Whee-e-e-e-e !  Wow-w-w-w-w ! 
Wow-w-w-w!"  Bent  almost  double  and  pranc- 
ing in  short  two  step  prances  every  three  or  four 
seconds  the  strange  young  man  would  lift  his 
head  high  and  bay  his  call  to  the  feeble  October 
sun. 

"Know  what  that  are?"  asked  a  Kentucky 
Regular  Army  corporal  with  company  pride 
registering  in  his  voice.  "That  thar's  a  Feely- 
pino  practising  up  fur  his  dance.  You  couldn't 
see  the  likes  o'  that  nowhere  fur  less'n  10  cents. 
He's  in  my  squad." 

"But  what's  he  doing  and  why  is  he  practis- 
ing this  dance — going  to  have  a  company  show.^" 
a  timid  observer  asked. 

"Somethin'  worse  than  a  company  show. 
He's  jes'  gettin'  a  tuned  up  for  the  big  dance 
when  he  gets  a  German's  head.  Say,  that  fel- 
ler's a  head  hunter — ^you  know,  he  cuts  off  the 
heads  of  his  enemies.  Somethin'  like  a  caneybal, 
I  reckon.  His  name's  Amok — ^he  usta  be  in  a 
show  at  Coney  Island." 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     327 

"  Woof— woo-o-o-o-o-f !  Woo-o-o-f-f ! "  The 
long  wail  rose  like  the  call  of  a  long  lost  soul. 
And  he  was  but  tuning  up. 

"Head  hunter"— "Amok"— "Coney  Island" 
— "Filipino."  Strange  bits  of  recollection 
seemed  to  flow  in  on  these  words.  Somewhere, 
some  time,  none  other  than  some  great  family- 
newspaper  itself  had  used  these  mystic  phrases. 
"Woof-woof "— ah,  that  was  the  clue!  "Woof- 
woof,"  the  call  of  the  wild;  the  sweet,  simple, 
expressive  word  used  by  head  hunters  while  they 
are  on  the  trail  of  their  sworn  enemy  in  all  the 
great  side  shows  of  the  world. 

"Woof -woof,  wo-o-o-o-o-F!" 

Like  a  bit  of  sunshine  of  purest  ray  serene  the 
truth  broke  through.  This  Amok  was  surely  the 
Amok — our  very  own  Amok,  made  famous  by  a 
great  family  newspaper.  From  his  iron  cage  in 
Col.  Jim  Edwards's  greatest  shows  in  all  Coney 
Island  had  not  Amok  broken  into  its  columns.^ 

At  that  time  he  had  been  suffering  from  ennui 
— ^head  hunting  among  the  cages  of  Coney  Island 
had  lost  its  thrill.  Civilization  had  done  its 
worst,  and  from  a  savage  woof  woofing  head 


328      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

worshipper  he  had  changed  to  a  yawning,  tired 
young  man. 

Not  even  the  thought  of  chasing  Germans  up 
and  down  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  would  un- 
loosen the  pangs  of  ennui.  He  didn't  care  to  go 
into  the  army.     He  loved  his  ennui. 

But  when  the  great  family  newspaper  had 
told  of  poor  Amok  he  awoke  from  his  yawning 
days,  scraped  the  long  dried  bit  of  dark  red 
stain  from  his  favourite  bolo  and  steathily  stole 
down  to  The  Sun  office.  But  the  hunting  was 
poor  and  all  that  Amok  could  do  was  to  return 
to  Col.  Jim  Edwards's  greatest  show  in  all  Coney 
Island  and  do  a  dance  over  a  thing  with  a  wooden 
dome  and  a  hank  of  hair. 

But  the  old  ambish  had  been  awakened;  that 
head  hunting  trip  to  the  newspaper  office  had 
furnished  the  little  divine  spark  that  was  to 
some  day  break  forth  into  a  great  burning, 
blazing  passion.  Fooling  with  wooden  domes  at 
10  cents  a  person  was  not  anything  to  brag  of 
for  a  full  grown  Igorro  e  hand  raised  on  head 
hunting  and  feasting  back  in  dear  old  Bantoc, 
Island  of  Luzon,  Philippines. 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    329 

He'd  throw  off  this  white  man's  ennui — 
he'd  go  into  the  army  and  he'd  get  himself  half 
a  dozen  or  so  fine  young  German  heads.  He'd 
show  all  those  wise  ones  back  in  Ban  toe  who 
had  been  shaking  their  heads  over  him  ever 
since  he  had  left  there  with  a  wandering  show 
troupe  six  years  ago.  Some  fine  day  he'd  get 
off  the  4:17  water  buffalo  cart  special  at  Bantoc 
station  and  he'd  give  'em  a  real  treat. 

"Lookey  what  I  brung  ya,  Ma,"  he'd  say  in 
the  prevailing  language  of  Bantoc.  ''Here's 
one  for  you  too,  Pa.  And  there's  one  apiece  for 
all  you  kids — and,  lookey,  I  got  a  German 
General  for  myself." 

And  then  they'd  have  a  legal  holiday  and  put 
all  the  presents  on  top  of  poles  and  have  a  fine 
old  homecoming  war  dance,  and  kill  off  the  pet 
dogs  for  the  prodigal  w^ho'd  come  back  with  the 
bacon.  And  after  the  dance  they'd  put  the 
things  in  baskets  and  hang  'em  under  the  eaves 
of  the  ''ato,"  which  is  pure  Bantoc  for  the 
meeting  house,  where  only  the  male  head  hunters 
are  allowed  to  go  and  which  is  a  kind  of  an  Elks 
club  for  all  the  young  bloods  of  Bantoc. 


330      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"Woof,  woof,  woo-o-o-o-o-f!"  Amok  com- 
pleted another  circle  and  then  threw  her  into 
high  and  opened  the  exhaust. 

Plain  it  was  now  that  he  had  gone  into  the 
great  army  of  freedom.  Clear  it  seemed  that 
he  was  a  first  class  fighting  man  in  Company  I, 
307th  Infantry,  Seventy-seventh  Division,  Camp 
Upton.  Beyond  the  slightest  shadow  of  a  doubt 
he  was  keeping  in  practice  for  the  big  feast  and 
blowout  when  he'd  blew  into  Bantoc  with  his 
presents. 

With  a  wonderful  extra  strong  "woof!" 
Amok  drew  up  plumb  in  front  of  the  family  news- 
paper's amateur  war  correspondent. 

He  didn't  have  his  bolo  on  him — ^that  is,  it 
was  not  visible  any  place.  He  was  small,  and 
there  was  a  fine  young  smile  about  his  lips  and 
a  very  wise  twinkle  to  his  eyes.  And  there  was 
not  any  bolo  showing. 

"Going  to  Germany  and  get  some  heads,  eh. 
Amok.?"  was  asked  in  as  much  of  an  offhanded 
impromptu  way  as  was  possible  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  asker  being  none  other  than  he 
who  had  himself  been  head  hunted. 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     331 

"Me — sure.  Get  some  heads.  Maybe  Cap- 
tain he  care.    But  I  get  'em — six." 

"That's  fine — ^get  a  lot  of  'em,"  was  advised. 
"Get  a  couple  for  me  too.  Say,  you  have  not 
got  your  bolo  along,  have  you,  Amok?"  This 
was  what  lawyers  might  call  a  leading  question. 

"Nope,  him  home.  I  get  him  when  I  go 
France,  maybe  if  Captain  he  let." 

The  good  news  about  the  bolo  put  a  new  com- 
plexion on  things.  One  could  talk  quite  frankly 
now. 

"Your  family  in  the  business,  too.  Amok, 
head  hunting?"  "Nope,  two  caught — ^him  in 
jail." 

"Well,  that's  right  sad.  Put  in  jail  just  for 
doing  a  little  private  head  hunting.  Well,  well. 
In  for  life,  I  suppose?" 

"Nope — ^just  from  now.  But  me — ^when  I 
go  Germany — ^woof!  I  getta  heads — sex,  ten 
tousands.  An'  I  go  home  Ban  toe  big  dance — dog 
feast — everything  fine.  Watch — ^I  show  you." 

"Woof,  woof,  woo-o-o-o-f-f-f!"  Around  the 
circle  pranced  Amok  begging  the  dull  October 
sun  for  no  less  than  six  German  heads. 


332      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

In  the  next  street  to  the  right  of  I  Company 

a  score  of  rookies  were  whiHng  away  the  hours 

doing  vocal  exercise.      A  high  boarding  house 

tenor  struck  up  a  fresh  old  one  and  they  were  off. 

You're  in  the  army  now. 

You're  in  the  army  now. 

You  son  of  a  gun,  you'll  never  get  rum. 

You're  in  the  army  now. 

But  even  this  mention  of  such  a  wonderful 
thing  as  rum  had  no  interest  whatsoever  for 
Amok. 

All  he  wanted  was  his  six  German  privates 
and  a  Major-General  to  take  back  to  Bantoc — 
and  the  amateur  war  correspondent  wished 
him  all  the  luck  in  the  world. 

5 — Amok  Loses  His  "Woof!  Woof!" 

And  now  Amok,  once  ambitious  head  hunter 
of  far  away  Bantoc,  Island  of  Luzon,  has  gone 
and  got  his  hair  cut.  Like  a  certain  Biblical 
gent,  Amok  hairless  is  plumb  helpless.  And 
to-night  Company  I  isn't  near  the  outfit  that 
it  used  to  be.  It  has  been  pretty  much  of  a  blow 
to  dear  old  I  Company,  taking  it  by  and  large. 
j    Here  for  two  months  Amok,  fresh  from  the 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    333 

wilds  of  Coney  Island  and  Col.  Bill  Edwards's 
greatest  show  on  earth,  has  been  getting  in 
shape  to  do  some  plain  and  fancy  ground  and 
aloft  work  in  the  line  of  head  hunting  around 
the  Rhine.  In  fact  Amok,  had  it  all  fixed  out 
to  surprise  the  folks  back  home  after  the  war 
and  slip  in  some  night  for  supper  with  a  head 
for  ma  and  pa  and  one  for  each  of  the  kids.  And 
it  seemed  certain  that  it  would  be  a  knockout 
and  give  the  old  town  a  thrill  that  would  last 
until  the  next  Methodist  lawn  supper. 

Then,  too,  Amok  was  the  pride  and  hope  of 
I  Company.  Whenever  ma  or  pa  or  the  best 
gal  would  come  out  from  the  city  on  a  Sunday 
afternoon  the  boys  would  point  out  Amok  and 
in  a  low  tone  sing  his  praises  and  boast  of  his 
mighty  deeds. 

"He's  a  twenty-four  karat  head  hunter  he  is 
and  he's  got  a  yard  of  hair  curled  up  under  his 
hat  that  would  make  a  Chink  laundryman  in 
the  city  fall  over  and  drown  in  his  own  wash- 
tub,"  more  than  one  buck  private  has  repeated 
with  rising  pride  on  these  civilian  tours  of  inspec- 
tion.    **D'ya  know  what   that  guy's   got?    A 


S34      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

big  knife  that  you  call  a  bolo  under  his  mattress : 
and  say,  boy,  when  he  gets  a  lot  o'  meat  you 
gotta  watch  out.  We  all  say  Mister  to  him 
when  he's  eatin'  meat." 

That  was  in  the  old  days.  But  alas!  alas! 
they  will  never  more  come  again.  This  morn- 
ing Amok  went  into  the  company  barber  shop 
to  get  a  slight  hair  trim.  For  two  days  the  poor 
little  head  hunter  had  been  practising  the  vege- 
tarian arts  and  he  was  a  trifle  weak.  Now  it's 
all  right  for  prize  fighters  and  football  players 
and  such  to  go  vegetarian  if  they  want  to,  but 
it  isn't  anything  for  a  doughboy  and  most  of 
all  for  a  late  head  hunter  with  a  bolo  under  his 
mattress  to  go  fooling  with.  So  having  been  with- 
out his  meat  for  two  full  days  Amok  was  weak. 

And  being  weak  he  didn't  bother  much  to 
take  any  particular  pains  in  instructing  Tony 
Babero,  barber  high  private,  as  to  the  latest 
style  in  hair  cutting  in  dear  old  Bantoc. 

"Cut  him,  eh?"  he  drawled,  running  his 
fingers  affectionately  through  a  couple  of  tassels. 
"Cut  him  queek,  eh?  You  know  him,  lettel, 
eh?" 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     335 

*'  Sure,  sure !  I  gotta  fine  hair  cut ;  sure,  sure ! " 
Tony  picked  up  his  scissors  and  gently  cut  a 
chunk  or  two  out  of  the  barracks  air. 

Tony  started  deftly  and  carefully  clipping 
around  the  ears  and  little  odd  parts  that  were 
hanging  loose,  and  about  the  time  he  had  fin- 
ished the  left  ear  poor  old  Amok,  weak  without 
his  meat,  dropped  off  in  a  doze.  Fifteen  min- 
utes later  he  woke  up  with  a  start.  Instinctively 
he  felt  back  of  his  head,  where  the  pride  of  his 
heart  had  been  hanging  for  lo  these  many  years. 
It  was  a  terrible  scene  that  followed. 

Strong  men  have  wept  and  wrung  their  hands 
at  far  less.  For  close  up,  in  fine  Wisconsin 
Kaiser  Bob  style,  lay  all  that  was  left  of  hand- 
some Amok's  precious  locks.  And  what  was 
more,  Tony  had  given  him  the  clippers  on  the 
back  of  the  neck  and  shaved  down  both  sides 
in  the  latest  Sixth  avenue  style.  It  was  a  hair- 
cut that  any  one  of  a  httle  group  of  willful  men 
would  be  proud  of,  no  matter  whether  they  had 
come  from  Wisconsin  or  Missouri,  or  even  the 
dear  old  home  State  of  New  York. 

Just  v/hat  Amok  said  never  will  be  known. 


336      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

there  being  few  if  any  translators  of  native 
Luzon  dialect  on  hand  at  that  exact  moment. 
Abuslam  Ben  Hamid  Shariff,  the  popular  ex- 
Arabian  professional  tumbler  of  Luna  Park  and 
points  West  and  now  acting  corporal,  was 
waiting  for  a  shave,  but  even  Abuslam  could 
not  catch  much.  Then  there  was  Corporal 
Amerigo  Carrucie  waiting  for  a  massage,  and 
he  took  oath  later  that  he  wasn't  able  to  grasp 
more  than  the  general  meaning — ^but  Corporal 
Amerigo  was  right  smartly  occupied  with  wor- 
rying over  his  massage  and  his  chance  of  going 
home  this  afternoon  to  see  the  bride. 

And  then  there  was  Sergt.  Leonard  Carroll, 
who  was  going  to  shoot  a  whole  day's  pay  to 
Tony  to  get  everything  on  the  bill  from  a  shave 
to  a  hair  singe,  and  Leonard  took  oath  that  he 
couldn't  remember — ^but  Leonard  is  excused 
with  apologies  because  this  very  afternoon  he 
hurried  to  the  city  with  the  idea  of  getting  him- 
self all  tied  up  in  some  kind  of  a  matrimonial 
knot.  Company  I,  it  seems,  is  very  powerful 
on  marrying  non-coms. 

Anyway  Amok  said  a  lot  of  things  that  might 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     337 

have  been  left  unsaid  and  fortunately  were  pro- 
nounced in  a  wild  and  far  distant  tongue.  Even 
when  Tony  offered  to  throw  a  dime  off  the  bill 
it  didn't  help  matters  much.  But  in  a  minute 
Amok  was  all  tuckered  out.  He'd  been  two 
days  without  his  meat  and  on  top  of  that  he's 
been  shorn  close.  Babbling  in  native  Luzonese, 
he  gathered  up  eight  quarts  of  raven  black 
tresses  and  carried  them  to  the  privacy  of  the 
second  floor.  There,  with  a  little  Bantoc  cere- 
mony, he  gently  placed  them  alongside  his 
beloved  bolo.  And  down  stairs  in  the  barber's 
corner  Tony  keeps  an  eye  on  the  door  and  a 
razor  in  his  pocket. 

But  Tony's  fears  are  groundless — ^at  least 
they  are  groundless  as  long  as  Amok  don't  get 
hold  of  any  red  meat.  If  that  should  happen 
Tony  would  better  slip  over  to  the  negro  367th 
Infantry  and  take  a  few  private  lessons  on  "'The 
Razor  in  Time  of  War." 

6 — When  Private  Burkle  Goes  Home 

But  Amock,  even  though  his  precious  locks 
are  now  shorn,  is  not  the  only  soldier  in  this 


338      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

great  Army  of  Freedom  who  is  going  to  upset  a 
lot  of  old  family  traditions  when  he  goes  home 
after  the  war  is  over  to  see  how  all  the  folks  are 
getting  along.    There's  Fred  for  instance. 

Germany  papers  will  please  copy  this  story 
of  Private  Fred  Burkle.  It  should  make  inter- 
esting reading  back  in  Private  Burkle's  old  home 
town  of  Feldrennach,  Kingdom  of  Wurttem- 
berg,  and  even  in  certain  quarters  of  Berlin  it 
should  attract  some  little  attention. 

For  Private  Burkle  is  figuring  on  going  back 
home  via  Camp  Upton,  the  Atlantic,  certain 
intricate  trench  systems,  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments and  the  River  Rhine.  And  the  folks, 
from  the  Crown  Prince  down,  may  want  to  be 
on  hand  to  welcome  home  one  of  the  old 
boys. 

"And  I'm  going  back  in  style,"  Private  Bur- 
kle announced  to  his  bunkies,  toasting  their 
shins  around  the  big  barrack  room  stove  last 
night.  ''I'm  going  to  tie  a  little  red,  white  and 
blue  flag  to  my  bayonet  and  march  down  the 
Haupstrasse  singing  'The  Star  Spangled  Ban- 
ner,' and  shoutin'  'To  hell  with  the  Kaiser.'" 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION    339 

Private  Fritz  borrowed  a  pipeful  of  tobacco 
and  slowly  continued  his  remarks! 

"Then  I'm  goin'  to  look  up  my  two  brothers 
in  the  German  army  and  I'm  goin'  to  make  them 
recite  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and 
President  Wilson's  April  message  to  Congress 
askin'  for  war. 

''Then  I'm  goin'  to  tell  my  brother  Ernst 
that  he  is  a  pig  and  a  traitor  for  living  for  six 
years  off  the  fat  of  America  and  then  sneakin' 
back  to  Germany  so  as  to  fight  for  this  verdamt 
Kaiser  against  the  only  country  that  ever  did 
anything  for  him.  But  if  Germany  gained  a 
soldier  when  he  ran  to  her,  your  Uncle  Sam  got 
one  when  I  stayed  here.  I  will  make  it  more 
than  even.    This  is  my  country." 

Coming  as  it  did  at  a  moment  when  traitors 
to  America  seem  everywhere,  and  when  there 
have  been  grave  doubts  as  to  the  completeness 
of  America's  assimilation  of  her  foreign  born, 
this  half  jesting,  half  angry  statement  of  a  plain 
soldier  whose  sympathies  might  easily  have  been 
shaky  was  like  a  warm  breath  of  spring  to  the 
snowbound  camp. 


340      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Scores  of  soldiers  there  have  been  who  have 
demanded  that  they  be  taken  from  fighting 
branches  because  of  relatives  in  the  armies  of 
Austria  or  Bulgaria  or  Germany — and  in 
many  cases  generous  powers  that  be  have 
seen  the  broad  justice  of  their  pleas.  But 
these  soldiers  were  different  from  Private  Fred 
Burkle. 

"I  asked  to  be  sent  down  here  in  the  first 
contingent,"  he  went  on.  "I  wanted  to  prove 
that  there  are  some  German-born  who  see  the 
justice  of  America's  cause.  And  if  my  brothers 
don't  think  it  is  right  for  brothers  to  fight 
against  each  other — ^why,  let  them  quit.  I  am 
in  the  right." 

And  then  came  the  old  story  of  a  boy  who  left 
Germany  because  of  hard  taskmasters  and  ran 
away  to  great,  free  America.  At  14  he  had 
been  bound  out  on  a  seven  year  contract  to 
learn  to  become  a  mechanical  engineer.  For 
three  years  he  was  to  receive  no  pay  and  then 
for  two  years  two  marks  a  week  and  then  for  the 
final  two  years  three  marks.  Each  morning  he 
must  get  up  at  4  o'clock,  walk  for  two  hours  to 


NOT  STRICTLY  REGULATION     341 

his  work  and  then  labour  until  7  at  night.  And 
he  received  no  pay. 

So  Fritz  took  a  bright  moonlight  night  for  it 
and  started  for  America.  That  was  twelve  years 
ago,  and  in  these  twelve  years  he  had  learned 
the  fancy  painting  and  lettering  trade  and  had 
prospered.  Six  years  ago  he  sent  money  to  his 
brother  Ernst  to  come  over,  and,  like  Fritz,  this 
second  boy  prospered  well  in  his  trade  of 
machinist.  For  a  long  time  the  two  brothers 
lived  happily  together  at  1131  Broadway, 
Brooklyn. 

During  the  first  three  years  of  the  great  war 
they  agreed  that  Germany  should  fight  on.  But 
the  day  that  diplomatic  relations  were  broken 
off  the  breach  began  to  open.  And  the  morning 
that  a  letter  came  from  the  father  in  Feldrennach 
urging  that  the  two  boys  leave  America  immedi- 
ately and  make  their  way  somehow  to  Germany 
and  join  the  army  there  was  open  rupture  be- 
tween the  brothers. 

"I'm  going,"  Ernst  solemnly  pronoimced. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  Fritz  warned.  "This  is 
your  country.    You  have  a  home  here,  you  have 


342      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

friends — ^America  had  done  everything  for  you. 
What  do  you  care  for  the  Kaiser?" 

But  words  were  only  the  start  of  the  quarrel 
and  a  half  hour  later  when  Fritz  started  for  his 
work  there  had  been  blows.  And  that  night 
when  Fritz  came  home  Ernst  was  gone. 

The  first  week  in  September,  through  some 
underground  route,  a  second  letter  came  from 
the  old  father  back  in  the  Wurttemberg  village. 

"Ernst  has  arrived  and  has  entered  the  avia- 
tion service,"  it  read.  "Your  younger  brother 
is  also  in  the  army.  I  will  expect  you  to  do  your 
duty." 

But  Fritz's  idea  of  his  duty  being  a  bit  different 
from  his  sire's,  Fritz  hustled  to  his  draft  board 
and  asked  to  be  sent  with  the  first  contingent 
to  Camp  Upton. 

"I  wish  there  was  an  aviation  branch  in  this 
camp,"  he  concluded  last  night,  "but  then  I 
guess  a  'dough  boy'  in  the  trenches  ain't  so  bad 
after  all.  Fightin'  is  fightin',  ain't  it?  Just  as 
long  as  you're  fightin'  the  Kaiser." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 
THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 
THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

1 — ^ToMMY  Goes  Back  for  More 

AN'  you  all  is  goin'  back;  you's  goin'  back 
fo'more?  My  Gawd!" 
Private  Bill  Raymond,  from  Lock 
Haven,  Pa.,  attached  to  the  volunteer  305th 
Ambulance  Company  as  negro  chef  for  the 
officers'  mess,  spoke  with  vast  respect  and 
wonder.  For  a  half  hour,  wide  eyed  and  open 
mouthed,  he  had  drunk  in  the  tale  of  the  going 
out  of  1,100  brave  men.  It  was  his  first  glimpse 
at  the  real  price  of  war  and  it  had  left  him 
trembling  and  unnerved. 

On  the  adjoining  cot  in  the  barracks  sat  the 
man  who  wasn't  afraid  to  go  back.  Under  his 
left  eye  there  were  tiny  stars  and  now  and  then 
there  was  a  slight  twitch.  And  there  was  a  cer- 
tain pallor  about  his  face  that  spoke  of  unfor- 

345 


S46      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

gotten  hardships  and  hospital,  and  fitted  poorly 
the  square  fighting  jaw  and  the  sturdy  shoulders. 

He  was  one  of  the  thirty-three — ^the  ghost  of 
an  outfit  that  was.  To-day  on  Canadian  war 
records  you  must  turn  many  pages  back  to  find 
so  much  as  a  mention  of  the  Eaton  machine  gun 
brigade  of  Toronto.  This,  unlike  its  sister  outfit, 
the  gallant  Princess  Pats,  went  out  unsung  and 
unknown,  but  in  a  blaze  of  glory  and  at  "Wip- 
ers" (Ypres)  on  the  Queen's  birthday.  And  its 
1,100  had  helped  to  make  the  word  Canadian 
the  gloriously  hated  one  that  it  is  on  the  Fred- 
erichstrasse. 

His  full  name  was  William  J.  Atkins,  but  a 
British  soldier  by  the  name  of  Atkins  is  doomed 
to  Tommy  forever.  And  by  all  the  rights  of 
reward  and  merit  a  British  soldier  with  an 
honourable  discharge  from  the  Canadian  over- 
seas expeditionary  forces  in  the  hip  pocket  of 
his  National  Army  "O  D"  breeches  and  now 
drawing  Uncle  Sam's  bit  each  month  most 
certainly  deserves  to  be  called  Tommy. 

And  more — a  Tommy  marked  with  shrapnel 
like  a  tattooed  man,  with  nerves  gone  and  a 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        347 

brave  record  of  cheating  the  army  undertaker 
for  a  full  year,  who  is  not  afraid  to  go  back  for 
more  and  volunteers  in  a  special  unit  and  is 
mightily  well  pleased  when  he's  assigned  to 
serve  with  the  National  Army  and  New  York 
city's  proud  young  division — ^well  he  deserves 
a  medal  and  at  the  least  a  couple  of  knit 
sweaters. 

"Ever  see  a  Colt  automatic  machine  gun?" 
Tommy  Atkins,  aged  34,  asked  Bill  Raymond, 
aged  19,  negro  and  musical  cook.  "No — eh.^* 
Well  she's  a  daisy.  She  makes  'em  hke  it.  We 
had  some  Vickers,  too,  but  the  Colt  was  my  pet. 
She's  a  daisy," 

Tommy's  left  eye,  near  where  the  shrapnel 
bits  had  buried  themselves,  twitched  in  memory. 
Machine  gun  jealousies  and  arguments  some- 
how are  always  bad  for  shrapnel  wounds. 

"Guess  the  machine  gun  outfits  here  must 
have  their  guns  by  this  time,"  he  went  on. 
"We  had  ours  just  about  the  time  I  enlisted. 
That  was  in  February,  1915,  at  Toronto.  Why 
say,  two  months  after  that  we  was  in  England 
finishing  our  training — 1,100  of  us  with  twenty- 


348      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

seven  officers.  Then,  after  a  month  there,  we 
was  shipped  to  France  and  jumped  right  m — 
the  Eaton  Machine  Gun  BattaHon  and  our 
little  old  Colts. 

'*We  were  first  at  Vestberg — ^I  don't  know 
how  you  spell  that — and  then  we  were  pushed 
on  to  'Wipers'  (Ypres).  By  the  time  we  got 
there  they  was  only  about  900  of  us.  Well,  we 
didn't  no  more  than  get  our  Colts  in  position 
to  draw  out  the  German  artillery  when  the  big 
battle  started.    That  was  May  23rd,  1915. 

"And  that  night  the  Kaiser  told  his  troops 
that  the  next  day  was  the  anniversary  of  Queen 
Victoria's  birthday  and  to  make  the  day  one 
that  the  Canadians  would  never  forget.  They 
certainly  did — but  they  never  got  by  and  they 
never  will  get  by." 

Again  there  was  the  twitch,  and  the  hand  that 
took  the  proffered  cigarette  shook — it  wasn't 
quite  as  steady  as  a  soldier's  ordinarily  should 
be. 

"Four  days  we  fought  without  relief.  W^ave 
after  wave  of  Germans  in  solid  mass  formation 
rolled  on  us — ^and  the  old  Colts  drove  'em  back. 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        349 

The  whole  earth  was  rocking  from  the  big  shells 
and  we  was  fighting  day  and  night.  Time  and 
again  they  took  our  first  and  second  line  tren- 
ches, but  we  always  got  'em.  But  we  were  done 
and  all  through.  Then  at  2  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  May  27  word  came  that  reinforce- 
ments was  coming  to  our  left.  And  'Wipers' 
was  saved  from  the  boches. 

'*Five  hours  later  my  gun  section  was  buried 
by  a  high  explosive  shell  and  then  shot  up  by 
shrapnel.  My  gun  was  out  of  ammunition  and 
I  had  just  blown  my  whistle  three  times  for 
more  when  she  hit  us. 

"'Eight  days  later  I  woke  up  in  Ward  H  of 
the  Bevon  Home  Hospital  at  Sandgate,  Eng- 
land. I  was  nothin'  but  a  jelly  fish.  I  could 
not  talk;  I  couldn't  see  and  I  was  90  per  cent, 
dead.  And  there  was  only  thirty-three  of  us 
men  and  ten  officers  even  so  much  as  ahve. 
W'e  was  1,100  strong  when  we  left  Toronto  two 
months  before  and  now  there  was  nothin'  but  a 
handful  of  cripples  left. 

''Say,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  TMien 
you  talk  about  standing  your  ground  and  takin' 


350      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

your  medicine  like  a  man  don't  forget  the  boys 
from  across  the  border.  Thirty-three  out  of 
1,100!" 

Everybody  waited  for  Tommy  Atkins  to  go 
on.    Pretty  soon  he  did. 

"After  about  three  months  in  England  I 
was  sent  back  home  on  a  cot.  Then  I  did  a 
turn  in  Canadian  hospitals  and  convalescent 
places  and  then  for  almost  a  year  I  was  on  the 
sick  list.  But  it  looked  like  I'd  never  amount 
to  anything  again,  so  in  September  last  year 
they  discharged  me. 

"After  floating  around  a  while  I  wandered 
down  to  Lock  Haven,  Pa.  And  after  Uncle 
Sam  rolled  back  his  sleeves  and  they  started 
raisin'  this  outfit  in  that  town  I  thought  I'd 
just  try  joinin'  out  with  it.  Well,  the  surgeons, 
they  took  me — and  say,  did  you  hear  we  might 
be  sent  to  France  before  the  rest  of  the  division. 
Some  news,  ain't  it.^  goin'  back  to  help  the 
Yanks  finish  the  job." 

And  then  it  was  that  Cook  Bill  Raymond 
managed  to  gulp  out  his  single  contribution 
to  the  afternoon. 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        351 


352      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"An'  you  all  is  goin'  back — ^you's  goin'  back 
formo'e?  My  Gawd!" 

And  Private  Tommy  Atkins,  one  of  the 
thirty-three  of  the  Eaton  Machine  Gun  Batta- 
lion that  was,  and  now  of  the  great  National 
Army,  twitched  an  affirmative  with  the  eye 
that  had  been  tattooed  with  shrapnel. 

2— "A  Bloomin',  Bloody  'Erg" 

Strange  and  wonderful  is  the  great  National 
Army  of  freedom.  The  Bowery  boy  sleeps  in 
the  cot  next  to  the  millionaire  from  Riverside 
Drive;  the  Long  Island  gardener  eats  at  the 
same  long  mess  table  with  the  man  whose 
country  estate  he  used  to  care  for;  the  barber 
who  once  saw  service  for  Italy  against  the  Turks 
in  the  Tripoli  campaign  merrily  clips  the  hair 
of  a  one  time  sergeant  of  the  British  Flying 
Corps  and  wearer  in  his  own  right  of  the  King's 
Distinguished  Conduct  Medal. 

Down  on  the  muster  pay  roll  the  D.  C.  medal 
man  is  Harry  Booton,  but  over  in  the  304th 
Field    Artillery's    headquarters    company    bar- 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        353 

racks  they  call  him  Ben  Welch,  in  honour  of 
the  Jewish  comedian.  But  for  all  that  his  real 
name  is  Ortheris,  whom  even  Kipling  himself 
thought  had  lain  dead  these  twenty  years  and 
more  in  the  hill  country  of  India.  And  for  the 
brand  of  service  for  his  reincarnation  he  has 
chosen  the  artillery — the  bloomin',  bloody  artil- 
lery that  he  used  to  hate  so  much  when  he  and 
Mulvaney  were  wearing  the  infantry  uniform 
of  the  little  old  Widow  of  Windsor. 

London  cockney  he  was  then,  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago,  and  London  cockney  he  is  to-day. 
And  if  there  be  some  who  say  his  name  is  not 
really  Ortheris  let  it  be  stated  that  names  are 
of  small  moment  after  all.  It's  the  heart  that 
cotuits — and  the  heart  of  this  undersized  little 
Jewish  cockney  is  the  heart  of  Kipling's  hero — 
and  the  soul  is  his  and  the  tale  is  his.  And  in- 
stead of  telling  his  yarn  to  Mulvaney  he  now 
tells  it  to  an  Italian  barber  they  call  Eddie  rather 
than  his  own  gentle  name  of  Gesualdi. 

From  Headquarters  Hill,  where  the  Old  Man 
With  the  Two  Stars  looks  out  and  down  on  his 
great  melting  pot  that's  cooking  up  this  stirring 


354       BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

army  of  freedom,  you  walk  a  half  mile  or  so 
west  until  you  stumble  on  Rookie  Roost  J  18, 
where  the  headquarters  company  and  the  band 
of  the  304th  Field  Artillery  play  and  sing  and 
sleep  and  work.  In  one  corner  of  the  low,  black 
walled  wash  room  nestling  next  the  big  pine 
barracks  Eddie  the  Barber  lathers,  shaves  and 
clips  hair  for  I.  O.  U.'s  when  he  isn't  busy 
soldiering.  And  into  Eddie's  ears  come  stories 
of  girls  back  home  and  yarns  of  mighty  drink- 
ing bouts  of  other  days,  and  even  tales  of  strange 
lands  and  wars  and  cabbages  and  kings.  Eddie  is 
the  confidant  of  headquarters  company,  and  the 
blowey,  doggey  regimental  band — the  best  band 
in  the  whole  camp  by  its  own  admission. 

If  you  stand  around  on  one  foot  and  then 
another  long  enough  and  add  a  bit  now  and  then 
to  the  gaiety  of  the  nations  represented  in 
Eddie's  home  concocted  tonsorial  parlour  you'll 
hear  some  of  these  wild  yarns  that  pass  uninter- 
rupted from  the  right  to  the  left  ear  of  Eddie. 
And  if  you're  lucky  you  may  even  hear  the  tale 
of  the  D.  C.  Medal — and  the  five  wounds,  and 
the  torpedoed  bark  and  the  time  the  King's 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        355 

hand  was  kissed,  and  all  from  the  lips  of  Ortheris, 
alias  Harry  C.  Booton,  alias  Ben  Welch. 

So  make  way  for  the  hero  whose  medal  was 
''at  'ome  in  me  box,"  but  who  had  a  cockney 
accent  and  five  bullet  wounds  and  a  pair  of 
army  boots  and  a  full  rigged  "kiki-ki"  uniform 
to  prove  that  though  he  had  once  been  a  part  of 
Kitchener's  Mob  and  a  soldier  of  the  King  he 
is  now  a  part  of  Wilson's  Men  and  a  soldier  of  a 
certain  determined  irate  old  gentleman  who  has 
reefed  his  beard,  changed  his  striped  trousers 
to  O.D.  breeches  and  switched  the  pen  for  the 
sword. 

"I  was  borned  down  in  Whitechapel,  Lunnon, 
and  me  ole  man  died  seventeen  year  ago  in  the 
Boer  war,"  the  tongue  of  Harry  began  this  tale. 
" 'E  was  a  soger  under  'Mackey'  McKenzie, 
and  'e  was  killed  over  in  S'uth  Africey.  Well, 
when  Hingland  goes  into  this  war  I  says  to 
meself  I'll  join  out  too  an'  do  me  bit,  an'  so  I 
done  it  wiv  the  Lunnun  Pusilliers,  and  after  two 
or  three  months  trainin'  we  was  sint  to  Antwerp, 
but  we  didn't  stop  there  very  long. 

"Then  we  fights  in  the  battle  of  Mons  and 


856      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

Lille — ^I  don't  know  how  you  spells  that  Lille, 
but  I  think  it's  'L-i-l' — or  somethin'  loike  that. 
Well,  in  the  battle  of  Mons  I  gets  blowed  up. 
Funny  about  that.  You  see,  a  Jack  Johnson 
comes  along  and  buries  me,  all  except  me 
bloomin'  tootsies,  and  then  I  gets  plugged 
through  both  legs  with  a  rifle  bullet  and  I'm  in 
the  horspital  for  a  month.  When  I  gets  out 
I'm  transferred  to  the  Royal  Flying  Corpse, 
and  I  goes  to  the  Hendon  or  sumthin'  loike  that 
aerodrome  up  Mill  Hill  way,  fur  trainin'.  You 
see,  I  was  a  bloody  stige  electrician  in  the 
Yiddish  theayters  on  the  Edgeware  road,  and 
knowin'  things  like  that  I  was  mide  a  helper  and 
learnt  all  about  flying  machines." 

The  b-r-r-r-r-r  of  an  airplane — the  first  one 
to  fly  over  the  camp — ^caused  Harry's  ear  to 
cock  for  a  second  and  then  a  smile  to  pop  out 
of  his  face. 

"'Ere's  one  of  the  bloody  things  now,"  he 
went  on.  "W^ell,  I  was  made  a  sergeant  an' 
arfter  a  bad  bumbm'  of  Lunnon  by  the  Fritzes 
six  of  us  machines  was  sent  to  pay  compliments 
to  the  Germans. 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE         357 

'*It  was  dark  and  cold  and  narsty  when  we 
started  out  to  attack  Frederickshaven  and  give 
'em  some  of  their  own  medicine. 

"Three  hundred  miles  we  flies  an'  I'd  dropped 
eighteen  of  my  nineteen  bums — ^you  see  I  was 
ridin'  with  Sergt.-Major  Flemming — ^when  they 
opens  up  on  us  with  their  anti-guns  and  five  of 
us  flops  down,  blazin'  and  tumblin'.  Then  some- 
thin'  hits  me  back  and  somethin'  else  stings  me 
arm  and  then  I  felt  her  wabble  and  flop.  I 
glances  be'ind  and  my  sergeant  is  half  fallin' 
out  and  just  as  'e  tumbled  I  mikes  a  grab  for 
'im.  'E  was  right  behind  me  and  so  as  to  right 
the  machine  I  grips  him  wiv  me  teeth  in  his 
leather  breeches  and  then  I  throws  'im  back 
and  swings  into  his  seat  and  tramps  on  the 
pedal  for  risin'.  Up  w^e  goes  to  9,000  feet,  but 
it  was  too  bloody  cold  up  there,  so  I  come  down 
some  and  points  back  for  Hingland. 

"The  sergeant  'e  were  there  wiv  me,  and  I 
was  glad  even  if  'e  had  been  killed  dead.  You 
w^ouldn't  want  'im  back  there  with  them  Boo- 
ches — 'im  my  pal  and  my  sergeant.  I  wasn't 
going  to  let  the  Booches  have  'im. 


358      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

"More'n  300  miles  I  had  to  fly— 6  degrees 
it  were — ^when  I  caught  Queensborough,  and 
then  I  come  down.  Funny  about  that — ^just 
as  soon  as  I  'it  the  ground  I  fointed  loike  a 
bloomin'  loidy. 

"An'  I  was  up  in  a  HingHsh  horspital  in 
Lunnon  when  I  come  to  a  couple  of  d'ys  after. 
An'  I  wykes  up  a  bloomin'  'ero,  and  the  King 
'e  sends  for  me  an'  some  other  'eroes,  and  we 
all  goes  to  Buckingham  Palace,  and  'is  Majesty 
the  King  and  Queen  Mary  and  Lord  Kitchener 
and  a  'ole  bloomin'  mess  of  them  bloomin'  dooks 
and  lydies  comes,  and  the  King  pins  the  medal 
on  me.  Me  a  bloody  'ero  with  a  D.  C.  medal. 
And  now  I'm  warin'  this  bloomin'  kiki-ki  and 
hopin'  to  get  another  crack  at  Kaiser  Bill  and 
Fritz  the  sauerkraut." 

The  rest  of  Harry's  story  came  slowly.  In- 
valided out  of  the  service,  he  was  ordered  to  the 
munitions  factories  in  northern  England.  But 
Harry  had  no  stomach  for  such  work  as  mak- 
ing high  explosives  and  left  London  as  a  stow- 
away on  the  Swedish  bark  Arendale.  Fifteen 
days  out  of  London  the  ship  was  torpedoed,  and 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        359 

after  several  hours  in  the  water  he  was  picked 
up  by  the  Dutch  steamship  Leander  and  finally 
landed  in  New  Orleans  via  Panama. 

Then  Harry  came  to  New  York  a  little  over  a 
year  ago  and  made  his  abode  at  157  Rivington 
street.  By  day  he  worked  in  the  A-Z  Motion 
Picture  Supply  Company,  72  Hester  street, 
and  by  night  he  told  brave  tales  of  war  and  sang 
snatches  of  opera  that  he  had  learned  behind 
the    scenes    in    London. 

Then  came  America's  entrance  into  the  great 
war  and  the  selective  service  examination.  At 
Board  109  Harry  demanded  that  although  he 
was  a  British  subject  he  be  allowed  to  go. 
And  after  considerable  scratching  of  heads 
the  members  of  Board  109  decided  to  ship 
Harry  to  Camp  Upton  with  the  first  incre- 
ment on  September  10  and  what  was  more 
to  make  him  the  squad  leader  on  the 
trip. 

''Salute  me,  ya  bloody  woodchopper,"  Harry, 
ex-Tommy  Atkins,  shouted  in  derision  at  some 
lowly  private  who  ventured  to  try  a  light  re- 
mark.    "Hain't  I  yer  superior.^    Hain't  I  actin' 


360      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

corporal?   Hain't  I  goin'  to  be  a  sergeant  major? 
Arsk  me — ^hain't  I?" 

And  the  answer  was  decidedly  and  emphati- 
cally yes.  And  power  to  ye,  Harry  Booton — 
medal  or  no  medal. 

3 — ^A  Soldier  of  His  Country 

Private  Thomas  Tagney  is  not  carried  any 
longer  on  the  books  of  Company  D,  307th  In- 
fantry, as  A.  W.  O.  L.  That's  been  scratched 
off  and  to-day  his  service  record  has  been  re- 
vised up  to  date — and  there  is  not  a  mark 
against  it. 

Possibly,  even  in  these  days  of  war,  there  are 
civilians  who  do  not  know  what  the  letters 
A.  W.  O.  L.  mean  in  army  life.  But  the  youngest 
rookie  in  this  great  National  Army  of  Freedom 
does,  and  to  be  Absent  Without  Leave  is  in  his 
eyes  a  crime  against  his  company  and  his 
country. 

And  for  forty-eight  hours  there  it  had  stood 
on  Company  D's  books  in  accusing  black  and 
white:    "Private  Thomas  Tagney,  A.  W.  O.  L." 

"I  never  thought  Tom  would  pull  anything 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        361 

like  that,"  said  the  top  sergeant  as  he  laid  down 
his  papers  and  turned  to  his  company  clerk. 

"Maybe  something  wrong,  sergeant,"  the 
clerk  contributed. 

''I  hope  so.  It'd  be  a  shame  if  Tom  would 
get  in  bad  right  now  when  he  is  just  about  to 
get  a  pair  of  stripes.  The  Captain's  had  his 
eye  on  him  for  some  time  and  he'd  landed  as  a 
corporal  if  this  had  not  come  up." 

And  all  over  his  platoon  and  especially  his  own 
squad  Tom's  pals  and  bunkies  were  shaking 
their  heads.  They  liked  him  and  it  was  tough 
to  see  him  get  in  so  bad.  He'd  have  to  stand 
trial  and  there  was  no  telling  what  might  be 
handed  to  him,  two  months  in  confinement  to 
camp,  or  long  hours  of  special  fatigue  duty, 
with  the  possibility  of  a  money  fine  tacked  on  to 
either. 

"Let's  wire  and  tell  him  to  send  some  excuse 
down  to  the  Captain  at  once,"  suggested  the 
lad  whose  cot  was  next  to  Tom's. 

"Aw,  it's  too  late  now — that  won't  do  no 
good,"  was  the  answer  from  the  other  side  of 
Tom's  cot. 


362      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

So  Tom's  pals  and  his  officers  waited  and 
hoped  that  when  he  did  return  he  would  be 
armed  with  doctor's  certificates  and  proofs 
galore  of  his  necessary  absence.  Just  a  line  or  a 
wire  might  straighten  out  matters  and  make  the 
explanation  easy. 

And  yesterday  it  came.  It  was  a  telegram 
bearing  a  physician's  name: 

"Thomas  Tagney  died  to-day  of  acute  heart 
trouble.  Funeral  Saturday  morning  at  St. 
Luke's  Church." 

And  last  night  when  the  men  of  Company 
D  were  finishing  their  mess  Lieut.  Weaver  called 
them  to  attention  and  read  aloud  the  message. 
And  since  then  the  piano  has  been  silent  in  D 
barracks  and  little  knots  of  soldiers  have  gath- 
ered on  neighbouring  cots  or  in  corners  of  the 
mess  hall  and  talked  of  the  boy  who  is  no  longer 
A.  W.  O.  L. 

But  there  was  something  more  than  talk, 
for  soon  a  paper  was  making  the  rounds,  and 
soldiers  boys  whose  total  earnings  are  $30  a 
month  were  gladly  and  willingly  giving  a  full 
day's  pay  toward  an  American  flag  of  silk  and  a 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        363 

great  bouquet  of  flowers  for  the  pal  who  had 
gone  out  before  he  had  so  much  as  tasted  the 
glory  of  battle. 

"Let's  see  Tom  all  the  way  through,"  said 
the  boy  whose  cot  was  on  the  right  of  the 
A.  W.  O.  L's. 

"Sure — ^let's  speak  to  the  Captain,"  the  boy 
on  the  other  side  answered. 

So  last  night  a  little  delegation  of  Tom's  own 
squad  called  at  Capt.  T.  C.  Hastings'  quarters. 

"We'd  kinda  like  to  give  Tom  a  good  send 
off,"  the  spokesman  declared,  standing  stiff  at 
attention.  "Could  the  men  in  his  squad  go  in 
to  be  pallbearers  and  take  a  bugler  along  to 
blow  taps.^  We'd  like  to  do  that  much  for  Tom, 
sir." 

"I'll  go  along,  too,"  Capt.  Hastings  quietly 
answered.  And  so  on  the  first  train  that  pulled 
out  of  Camp  Upton  this  morning  Capt.  Hastings, 
with  a  squad  of  eight  men  and  a  bugler  under 
the  charge  of  Sergt.  Siegel,  left  for  the  city  on 
special  military  duty. 

Late  this  morning  they  slowly  bore  the  body 
of  their  bunkie  on  his  last  march.     As  he  was 


S64      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

lowered  on  his  final  soldier's  cot  a  bugler  who 
tried  not  to  let  his  lips  quiver  and  his  notes 
break,  played  taps. 

It  was  not  much  as  military  funerals  go  and 
It  lacked  the  impressive  simplicity  of  a  soldier 
burial  back  of  the  battle  front,  but  there  was 
something  deeply  pathetic  about  it — ^the  passing 
of  a  soldier  who  had  been  cheated  out  of  a  glori- 
ous death. 

Probably  the  piece  that  appeared  this  after- 
noon in  the  little  four  sheet  weekly  paper  that 
the  boys  of  Company  D  put  out  on  a  mimeo- 
graph tells  the  story  better  than  any  other 
words  can: 

"Anything  that  we  his  pals  may  write  will 
mean  little  to  the  bereaved  family;  but  they 
may  find  some  condolence  in  the  thought  that 
he  died  a  Soldier  of  his  Country,  as  honourably 
as  if  he  had  given  up  his  life  in  a  front  line  trench. 
May  God  bless  his  soul." 

4 — ^The  Army  That  Was 

For  the  most  part  the  soldiers  around  head- 
quarters  are   trim,   slim   waisted   young  chaps 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        365 

with  the  army  all  before  them.  They  hardly 
knew  the  meaning  of  the  service  ribbons  and 
long  after  the  last  coloured  bar  ribbon  was 
granted  these  lads  were  being  tucked  into 
trundle  beds  and  sung  to  sleep. 

Into  headquarters  came  a  deep  chested, 
thickset  old  campaigner  with  the  crow's  feet  of 
the  desert  around  his  eyes  and  the  bronze  of  a 
thousand  suns  stamped  on  his  face.  And  across 
his  left  breast  was  pinned  a  half  foot  of  service 
ribbon — ^the  Indian  wars,  Cuba  and  the  Philip- 
pines. And  on  his  left  coat  sleeve  were  the 
three  bars  of  a  sergeant  with  the  queer  emblem 
of  the  supply  department  resting  in  the  in- 
verted V. 

To  this  army  of  green  selected  men  with  its 
Plattsburg  officers  and  regular  army  sergeants 
who  point  with  pride  at  their  three  or  four  years 
of  border  service  Sergt.  Edward  Busick  came 
as  a  ghost  of  the  United  States  Army  that  was. 
He  was  a  call  from  the  past — ^from  the  days 
when  the  present  Major-Generals  were  shave- 
tails just  out  of  the  Point  and  chiefs  of  staff  were 
young  Lieutenants  and  the  old  Seventh  Cavalry 


366      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

was  the  cockiest  outfit  of  the  whole  service — 
from  the  days  when  in  another  country  and 
under  another  flag  Mulvaney  was  just  after 
entering  his  second  enhstment  "  a-servin' 
to  her  Majesty  the  Queen,"  and  had  hard- 
ly more  than  met  a  young  reporter  named 
Kipling  or  his  own  later  pals,  Ortheris  and 
Learoyd. 

So  to-day  the  slim  lads  at  headquarters  who 
know  how  to  run  typewriters  and  are  far  better 
acquainted  with  motor  cars  than  cavalry  horses, 
didn't  know  just  what  to  do  with  the  stocky 
old  veteran  with  the  half  foot  of  service  ribbons 
spread  across  the  left  pocket  of  his  blouse.  And 
stranger  still,  even  the  man  of  many  years  and 
many  wars  didn't  even  know  just  exactly  what 
to  do  himself. 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  General,  if  you  please, 
sir,"  he  told  Sergt.  Frank  Dunbaugh,  who  is 
one  of  the  watchdogs  without  Gen.  Bell's 
sanctum. 

"Very  well,  sergeant,  but — ^well,  have  you 
an  appointment.^"  Sergt.  Dunbaugh  asked  a 
bit  hesitatingly. 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        367 

"No,  not  exactly — but  the  General  knows  I 
am  coming.  He  told  me  to  come  back,  so  I'm 
here." 

"The  General  is  out  in  the  camp  right  at  this 
moment,  but  when  he  gets  back  probably  you 
can  see  him.  Possibly  you'd  better  tell  just 
what  you  want  to  see  him  about." 

And  so  it  was  that  the  story  of  Sergt.  Busick 
was  told — ^the  story  of  a  once  trim  young  trooper 
and  a  once  dashing  Lieutenant  of  the  Seventh 
Cavalry,  immortalised  by  Custer  and  honoured 
by  a  whole  army. 

Twenty  years  ago  Edward  Busick  was  as- 
signed as  a  private  to  G  Troop  of  the  Seventh, 
stationed  at  Fort  Apache,  Arizona.  At  that 
time  G  was  officially  lacking  a  Captain,  so  a 
certain  young  First  Lieutenant  was  acting 
commander,  and  for  his  orderly  he  chose  one 
trooper  Busick. 

One  evening  a  year  later  the  Lieutenant  re- 
ceived sudden  orders  to  report  immediately  to  a 
staff  post.  All  that  night  his  orderly  worked 
with  him  packing  his  personal  belongings  and 
helping  him   get   ready   for   an   early  morning 


368      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

start.  It  was  a  long  job  and  a  hard  one,  but  the 
orderly  didn't  mind  the  work  in  the  least;  all 
he  cared  about  was  the  loss  of  his  troop  com- 
mander. 

''Don't  suppose  I'll  ever  see  you  again, 
Busick,  but  if  so  and  there's  anything  I  can 
do  for  you  I'll  be  glad  to  do  it,"  the  Lieutenant 
told  him  when  the  job  was  finished  and  the  last 
box  had  been  nailed  down. 

It  wasn't  very  much  for  a  Lieutenant  to  say 
to  his  orderly,  but  it  meant  a  great  deal  to  this 
trim  young  trooper.  Somehow  in  the  old  army 
orderUes  get  to  thinking  a  great  deal  of  their 
officers  and  Busick  happened  to  be  just  that 
particular  kind.  He  had  an  especially  good 
memory,  too. 

The  whirligig  of  fate  that  seems  to  have  so 
much  to  do  with  army  affairs  sent  the  Lieutenant 
to  the  Philippines,  where,  as  Colonel  of  the  Sui- 
cide Regiment,  he  won  everlasting  honour  for 
his  regiment  and  a  Congressional  medal  for 
valour  for  himself.  Then  on  up  he  jumped  until 
his  shoulder  straps  bore  the  single  silver  star  of  a 
Brigadier.    Then  another  star  was  added  and  he 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE        369 

became  Chief  of  Staff  and  ranking  oflScer  in  the 
whole  army. 

And  all  the  while  the  whirligig  that  looks  after 
enlisted  men  saw  to  it  that  Trooper  Busick 
added  other  coloured  bars  to  his  service  rib- 
bons. And  slowly  he  added  pounds  to  his  slim 
girth  and  a  wife  and  children  to  his  fireside. 
But  as  a  heavy  girth  and  a  family  aren't  ex- 
actly synonymous  with  dashing  cavalrymen 
Sergeant  Busick  saw  to  it  that  he  was  trans- 
ferred from  the  roving  cavalry  to  the  stationary 
Coast  Artillery.  And  through  all  the  years  he 
remembered  the  Lieutenant  and  his  promise  that 
if  he  ever  wanted  anything  he  would  try  to  get 
it  for  him. 

One  month  ago  Sergeant  Busick  got  a  fur- 
lough from  his  Coast  Artillery  company  at  Fort 
McKinley,  Portland,  Maine,  and  bought  a  ticket 
to  Camp  Upton,  New  York.  There  were  only 
a  few  men  here  then,  so  he  didn't  have  any 
great  difficulty  in  seeing  his  old  First  Lieutenant. 

For  half  a  minute  or  so  Gen.  Bell,  command- 
ing officer  at  the  time  of  the  77th  Division  of 
the  National  Army  and  one  time  First  Lieu- 


370      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

tenant  of  the  Seventh  Cavalry,  didn't  recognise 
his  old  orderly — ^but  it  was  for  only  half  a 
minute. 

*' You'll  sleep  in  our  quarters  with  us  to-night," 
Gen.  Bell  ordered.  "To-morrow  we'll  see  about 
that  old  promise." 

So  that  night  Sergeant  Busick  had  the  room 
between  Major-Gen.  Bell's  and  Brig.-Gen. 
Read's.  But  sleeping  next  to  Generals  was 
pretty  strong  for  an  ordinary  sergeant  and  he 
didn't  accept  Gen.  Bell's  invitation  to  have 
mess  with  him. 

And  a  little  later  Busick  told  his  old  com- 
mander that  the  big  request  that  he  had  come 
across  the  continent  to  make  was  that  he  be 
transferred  to  the  Seventy-seventh  Division 
and  allowed  to  serve  under  the  General.  But 
army  tape  is  still  long  and  red,  so  all  that  the 
General  could  do  was  to  send  the  sergeant  back 
to  his  post  and  promise  that  he  would  do  all 
that  he  could.    This,  it  proved,  was  sufficient. 

And  to-day  Sergeant  Edward  Busick,  smiling, 
happy,  fat,  and  with  his  reassignment  papers 
safely  tucked  away  in  the  pocket  of  his  blouse 


THE  GREAT  ADVENTURE       371 

under  his  half  a  foot  of  service  ribbons  came 
back  to  report  for  duty.  It  took  twenty  years 
to  do — ^but  he's  done  it. 

And  the  National  Army  of  Freedom  hasn't 
any  idea  as  yet  how  much  richer  in  real  soldier 
talent  and  colour  it  is  to-day.  But  a  certain  old 
campaigner  who  used  to  be  a  First  Lieutenant 
of  cavalry  knows. 

5 — ^The  Army  That  Is 

But  Sergeant  Busick  really  belongs  to  The 
Army  that  Was — ^while  Amok,  and  the  barber 
from  Harlem,  and  Lang  Lee  and  Harry  Booton 
and  all  the  thousands  of  others  belong  to  The 
Army  that  Is. 

And  The  Great  Adventure!  That  is  not  for 
The  Army  that  Was  but  for  The  Army  that  Is 
— this  strange,  wonderful,  untried,  unsung  yet 
sure  army  that  is. 

Will  it  justify  American  democracy.^  Will  it 
show  the  world  that  American  youth  has  not 
been  born  for  naught?  Will  it  demonstrate  that 
this  great  country  can  take  to  its  heart  the 


372      BLOWN  IN  BY  THE  DRAFT 

peoples  of  the  whole  world  and  make  them  her 
own  sons? 

I  know  the  answer — and  thank  God  it  is  of 
three  letters  instead  of  but  two.  And  soon 
throughout  all  the  countries  of  the  world  this 
answer  will  ring  true  and  clear.  Even  in  Berlin 
they  shall  hear  it. 

And  now  this  last  line  is  to  be  my  own  to 
you  men  of  the  National  Army.  I  have  lived 
with  you;  I  have  laughed  with  you;  I  have 
felt  keenly  your  disappointments — and  they 
have  not  been  few;  I  have  watched  you  work; 
I  have  known  your  hopes;  I  have  witnessed 
your  sacrifices;  I  have  seen  you  come  to  these 
great  camps — a  mob — ^and  go  away  skilled 
fighting  men — go  away  to  face  the  wonderful 
Unknown,  the  final  test,  the  supreme  test, 
bravely,  unflinchingly. 

I  salute  you,  men  of  the  National  Army. 
And  my  one  deep  hope  is  that  you  will  come  back 
to  the  better  and  finer  world  that  you  yourselves 
will  have  made  possible. 

Good  luck,  old  pals. 

(END) 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


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